


A Million Possibilities

by Talin_Love



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Burn baby burn, Circle Mage Bethany Hawke, Cullenlingus, Developing Relationship, Deviates From Canon, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, I wanted to write porn and then this happened, Mages and Templars, Mutual Pining, POV Cullen Rutherford, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suddenly I have motivation to write, Where is this motivation during NaNo?, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 90,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15402672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talin_Love/pseuds/Talin_Love
Summary: His love remains vigilant over the span of fifteen years. From the moment he is assigned to watch over the Harrowing of his innocent crush, Cullen recognizes that his devotion blossoms beyond his duty for the Order. Asher Amell, a mage who is determined to use her knowledge and abilities for the good of the people, realizes that her principles may be what stands between her personal desires and purpose. From a Broken Circle to the rise of the Inquisition, two people witness the world fall apart as they question everything they once held dear.There is a planned outline for 75 chapters, covering events from 9:29 - 9:44 Dragon. Major Canon Divergence. Now we're actually NSFW (about time!) : ^ :





	1. The Warmth of Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher goes through her Harrowing.

9:30 Dragon

* * *

 

The hallway candles gleamed gently along the walls as Asher turned the corner toward the stairs. The Templar accompanying her had pulled her out of bed in the middle of the night. Her heartbeat drowned out all sound from her ears in anticipation. She dreamed of this occasion for so long and yet she feared it all the same. Her Harrowing - the rite of passage for any Circle apprentice who wishes to become a mage. It was the goal she had been working towards for the last six years.

Asher was an Amell, daughter to a prominent family of Kirkwall. Not that it mattered at the moment, though. She kept fond memories of her childhood before being ripped from her mother’s arms at the mere age of eleven. Her magical abilities had begun to manifest and the Circle did not see it fit to keep her in Kirkwall, in fear that her family could conjure enough clout to make a scene. Asher was transferred to Kinloch Hold where she began her studies of the arcane arts. Most mages would see this act as a cruel judgement brought upon an innocent family. At first, Asher believed it so as well, harboring hatred for the Templars that stole her life. But she soon learned that the world was not simply black or white. There were a million possibilities to a million outcomes from each decision she made that could continue shaping a world in her favour.

Now she faced one of those possibilities. Pass the Harrowing to gain more knowledge that would enable her to continue creating her new life or end everything she worked so hard to achieve in the clutches of a demon. The choice before her was horrifyingly simple. As Asher ascended the stairs, feeling the weight of her decision with each passing step, she scrambled to remember every piece of advice her mentors had so generously provided. A million possibilities lead to this exact point in time. She would not see herself fail.

She reached out to knock on the wooden door that lead to the Harrowing Chamber. Her Templar stood in silence behind, their face obscured by the steel helmet. The sound echoed loudly before Asher heard First Enchanter Irving’s voice. “Come in, child.”

Asher pressed against the door to usher it open. The room was spacious, donned with blue flame that illuminated the floors. The windows were stained in shimmering colours that bounced at the passing light. Her breath caught in her throat as Asher walked up the steps into the room’s center. Her eyes fluttered around, eager to capture every detail she could remember of this foreign surrounding. Her world could have ended there and she toyed with the idea of not minding to part this life with such a beautiful view. An abrupt cough from the First Enchanter pulled her back to the present.

“Welcome, Asher,” His smile was tender against the growing wrinkles of age, “Thank you for joining us today. We will be commencing your Harrowing momentarily.”

He paused carefully to observe her response. Asher kept her eyes low as she bowed, “It is an honour. I hope to make this Circle proud.”

Irving took in a breath before continuing. “Your dedication to your studies always makes this Circle proud, young one. It is for that reason that I wanted to witness your Harrowing personally.”

Her head suddenly snapped in his direction. The bewilderment in her eyes quickly gave away her shock.

“Of course, I won’t be the only one to watch you perform,” Irving gave a small chuckle as he gestured to the others, “It appears that Knight-Commander Greagoir is also eager to join us.”

“I saw you to Kinloch Hold when you first arrived, Apprentice Amell, I see it fit to be present at your Harrowing.” Greagoir spoke with a calm control. “Your magic is a gift, but it is also a curse. Templars exist to watch over mages in order to prevent the unspeakable corruption from happening. I will watch over your Harrowing but I will not be the one to slay you should you fall to the prey of demons today.”

Asher furrowed her brows slightly at the statement. “Ser Greagoir..?”

“This is Templar Cullen Rutherford,” Greagoir held up his hand, “He will be responsible for carrying out his duty should you fail your Harrowing.”

Her eyes wandered to the young man that stood at Greagoir’s side. His hair was unruly and his eyes kept anywhere but on her. Asher frowned a little at the sight, displeased with his inability to perform his job without the decency to look her in the eye. No , she scolded her thoughts. She must not allow her past experiences shape her view on the current world. It would not be just. A Templar's duty is to the Circle. It is for the protection of every mage.

“I see… no,” She paused, looking back at Greagoir who tensed at her words. “What I meant to say is, thank you for being here. Ser Greagoir. Ser Cullen. I am honoured to have you present.”

Her smile was genuine, despite the gravity of the situation. She admired the man who treated her with equal respect throughout the years. While most of her fellow apprentices deemed him too rigid and biased toward mages, Asher felt it was unfair to pass judgement on a man who followed orders. Greagoir allowed his principles guide him despite his personal feelings. He represented unwavering ideals against constant change.

“I will do everything in my power to not disappoint you.”

Greagoir let a small smirk slip him. “I should hope not. Otherwise, who else will I reprimand for burning down the West Library archives?”

“I’m certain you will find someone new to lecture, sir.” She grinned ear to ear. It was an unspoken but affectionate sentiment that never felt more true than it did that night. Asher lost her family but she managed to find new, unexpected relatives within the walls of the Circle. They may not have been the same loving and kind parents that she grew up to adore but they expressed love in a different fashion. Different. Not wrong.

Asher stepped up to the chalice that held a fresh brew of lyrium. Irving approached behind her, placing his hand firm at her back.

“Remember, young one,” He repeated with slow intention, “Within the Fade, there only exists your will. Follow your will, heed it, and you will overcome your Harrowing.”

“I understand.”

Picking up the chalice, Asher shuddered at the contact. The lyrium hummed in her touch, reacting to the magic that coursed through her veins, guiding her to come closer. She hesitated at the sensation, unsure whether this was the workings of temptation or the connection she held for the Fade. Her eyes wandered forward to meet Cullen’s. His jaw was clenched while his gaze held steadfast. She parted her lips slightly causing him to twitch in his spot. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the lyrium to take control.

The room spun as colors meshed into darkness. Asher could not feel her legs but her brain was screaming to run for her life. Her stomach dropped to her feet and suddenly the world stopped shifting. She opened her eyes to uncover her new surrounding.

The sky was painted grey. A stench of death reeked yet there were no bodies to be seen. Asher held her mouth at the sight, afraid to lose her dinner. The ground resembled a splattered beehive that veined in every direction. Tall statues of warriors, surrounded by rotten trees, stood at the edge of an abyss that dropped to depths unknown.

Asher leveled herself. Her possibilities were still endless. She had to act now to continue. Taking a step forward, Asher pushed beyond the initial fear.

The Fade she dreamed at night was nothing compared to the one that developed before her. She dreamed of memories of her mother and father. They used to cross the cobblestone streets of Kirkwall, visiting the market in Hightown to purchase vegetables for the dinner gathering their friends were set to join that evening. She used to run after her father, failing to keep up with his long strides. She used to carry a basket she helped one of the servant girls weave the week prior. Her mother would follow behind, calling out to her to be more graceful as a young lady.

Asher dreamed of spending time with other apprentices from the Circle as they felt the cool waters of Lake Calenhad wash against their legs. She used to hear her friend squeal with joy and splash back at one another. Ser Greagoir would yell at them, storming down the hill as he pushed aside the Templars who were assigned to keep watch.

Asher dreamed of a calmer, quiet time when she could spend the evening lazily in the library, indulging in a new text that Wynne would bring back from her journeys.

Used to. Not this. Not the Fade that was crippling with decay.

Asher pressed on, dismissing the thought. Her eyes focused on a light that started to manifest ahead on the path. It glowed with a warmth familiar to the candles that she loved to cuddle near during her long nights of studies. Asher picked up her pace.

The light changed as she came closer. It took shape within the core as a woman stepped out of the blinding center. Her body solidified within the Fade. Asher hesitated, stopping in her tracks before she could get within arm’s reach of the figure. The woman looked around for a moment as she focused back on Asher.

“Greetings,” Her voice appeared distant yet soft, “I am the Spirit of Compassion. I seek souls that hold genuine love for others in the face of chaos. What a pity that your people deem it necessary to prove your worth through a tradition that has long been obsolete.”

Asher could feel her throat dry. Was this a demon? Could spirits pass for benevolent beings if they pose no threat?

“Pardon me,” She spoke, noticing her voice shake, “I am to complete my Harrowing. How does my encounter with you fare in all of this?”

The Spirit of Compassion held her hands at her chest. “Ask yourself - how do you view the people of this world? Does it seem just that your mentors throw you into this vile test? You gave them so much, yet they still do not trust you.”

Asher paused for a moment, contemplating on the question. If this was a demon, its clever words could easily sway a vexed heart. Instead, she searched her mind for an answer that her principle would guide. Just like Ser Greagoir, what do her morals say over her feelings?

“People are just that… people,” She began with deliberate diction, “It is not a matter of just or unjust. I am not someone who has the right to pass that sort of judgement on others. If left on their own, I believe that most people are kind and will follow actions that do not harm others. Outside forces dictate their change in behavior. If that behavior is unjust, then the world as a collective will decide on their fate. Not me.”

A few second passed at the answer before the Spirit held out her arms. “Your compassion for people is stronger than the pain you harbor. It has taken root within your core. Search that core and the weapon you wield to protect those that suffer from the outside forces will manifest. That is your truth.”

With a flash of light, the Spirit vanished. Asher sensed a warmth resonate within her own chest. She looked down to notice a staff sitting sound in her palm. She quickly glanced back up to the empty space and whispered.

“Thank you.”

After standing still for a few more minutes, Asher decided to continue down the path. Her Harrowing had not ended. There was still something else she had to do in order to complete her journey. Now she walked with more confidence in each step. Her will had spoken to her, as the First Enchanter had suggested, and it guided her forward.

It did not take long for her to spot another light forming in the distance. This time she picked up her pace, eager to meet a new spirit. Just as before, a figure emerged from the light’s center. A man donned in heavy armor emerged in front of her. His hands rested on a long sword at the haft. The sword was drawn deep into the ground. The helmet he wore mimicked the design of a warden’s griffon wings. Asher halted.

“H-hello.” She stated, searching for the courage she had possessed not a second earlier.

“Welcome,” The spirit's voice boomed as Asher jerked back. “I am the Spirit of Purpose. I appear before those who have a calling beyond their selfish means. I see you have already met another of my kin. Tell me, what purpose drives you to succeed?”

Asher held her ground. She pondered her answer, careful to choose words that best described her principles as the Spirit patiently waited. Compassion was a key attribute that defined her character but what purpose did she have that guided her success? Gathering her thoughts, Asher spoke up once more. “I do not allow my purpose to drive my success. My purpose guides me to aid those who are overcome by external changes. My success is merely a byproduct of the actions I take. My purpose drives my hope in this world. Even if I am not successful and more so, even if the collective will is unjust.”

The Spirit of Purpose tightened his grip around the haft. “Your purpose to construct a world in which hope can thrive is more dominant than your desire to succeed above others. The one thing to stand against your will is the opposite that stands to hope.”

Asher held her breath, unsure whether her answer deemed passable.

“It comes.” The Spirit whispered, “Despair.”

A blood-curling shrill resonated against the statue walls as the Spirit of Purpose disappeared into thin air. Asher held her ears at the sound, curling into a ball at the ground. Everything around her froze. Asher tried to focus on her feet as she registered the cold air that escaped her lungs. The Fade turned blue, the same brilliant color as the Harrowing Chamber. Except this time, there was no warmth that filled her. Now, there was only the harsh, rigid cold.

Asher gripped her staff tighter as she rose to her feet. She knew what this was. She studied the scripture many nights in the past. The present now spilled from her book pages into reality as her fears manifested before her eyes. Despair demon .

The hooded figure perched from one of the statues. It crouched as it slid down the side and glided across the pathway. It wept and gnashed its teeth together as the bony hands extended from beneath the shawl. Asher did not think twice. She focused on the warmth of the candles, the light that kept her safe each night as she read her tomes. She remembered the warmth from her core that sparked every time she engaged with others. She felt the warmth her compassion bore.

A flash of red escaped her staff as she guided that warmth into a fireball. It collided with the demon, setting it ablaze. The shrieking made her dizzy but Asher continued to send out more fire its way. More and more. So much that she could no longer keep anything focused. The light around her ignited before everything went out like a flame silenced with a breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. I want to thank you for reading this fic. It is my first work so please be gentle with me :) I wanted to explore a story based on the Fraternities of the Circle of Magi. While we have seen a number of characters in the Dragon Age universe affiliated with Aequitarians, Libertarians, and even Loyalists, I hope to write about a mage that identifies with Isolationist ideals and how that mindset interferes with their morals and duty as Thedas falls into chaos. Thank you for sticking around!
> 
> Come say hi :) https://talinlove.tumblr.com/


	2. Devoted to a Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's concern grows into fear for her safety.

9:30 Dragon

* * *

 

“So I hear Amell passed her Harrowing.”

Cullen took pause from his breakfast. His spoon hung a few inches from his mouth as he looked up to the pair of templars sitting across from him in the dinning hall.

“Irving was over the moon but even Ser Greagoir was pleased, apparently.” The templar to the right continued. He took notice of Cullen’s sudden interest. “You were there, Rutherford. What was it like?”

The second templar turned to him as well. Cullen choked a little on his meal at the unexpected attention. He set down his spoon back into the bowl and scratched his cheek. “It was… normal, I guess. She took in the lyrium, went into the Fade, and then awoke as she was before.”

The first templar frowned. “There’s got to be more to it than a mage snoozing off and then getting up as if nothing happened. Come on, spill the details.”

Cullen stiffened slightly. “She glowed… more so afterwards. The lyrium sang and she fell into slumber. Unmoving. But when she opened her eyes, there was a light that appeared around her and she looked as if she was at peace.”

“Should have expected nothing else.” The young man snorted, “It’s useless asking him anything about Amell. You don’t need to rely on rumors to see how infatuated he is with her. Anything out of his mouth will just be more nonsensical poetry.”

Cullen felt his face redden as they sneered.

“How he blushes at the thought!” The other templar teased. “We don’t need to guess much what he must imagine into the late nights.”

Cullen rose to his feet. He grabbed his bowl and stormed off as the templars continued to laugh behind. He did not need to be reminded of his shame from people who themselves could not properly follow orders. It was the one rule he cherished breaking and it drove him mad with guilt for his betrayal of the Order. The night prior left him shaken. He had awaited her return, just as her seniors had, with stressed apprehension. It was the first time he had witnessed the Knight-Commander sweat over a Harrowing. Should she have failed, it was his duty to strike her down before a demon could enter the living world. He doubted himself during each passing second that he waited. The feeling gnawed at his mind, stripping away all of his years of training for the desire to sweep her away from Kinloch Hold.

But he could not bring himself to follow that fantasy no matter how strong it tugged at his heart. When she returned from the Fade, complete and intact, Cullen could barely hold back his need to hold her in his arms. Without restraint, he would have picked her up right then and there in front of his superiors, embarrassing himself, the Knight-Commander, the Order, and Asher in one fell swoop. How would she feel against his chest? How would her breath feel against his neck? How would she blush at his assault? How would she respond to the advance?

He recalled their earlier engagement before breakfast. The Tower was still fast asleep as Cullen had roamed the hallways, groggy from the night prior but more so from his lack of control to stop the daydream that ensued once he made it back to bed. Cullen had stopped midway in the corridor. His ears flushed pink as he stared into a nearby wall. He was ashamed of himself for allowing his heart to guide his actions. She was his shame. And it only made him feel more pride in knowing that his obsession was someone worthy of receiving praise from both mages and templars. He smiled a bit to himself at the thought.

“Excuse me.”

The sound he only dared to imagined in his sleep suddenly jolted him back to reality. Cullen spun around to the source. His cheeks grew brighter. He was mortified. There she stood in front of him, as if it was the most simplest thing in the world. Her hair hugged the perimeter of her face, curling at her jaw as it cut short of her neck. Her eyes looked his way in the most honest manner, unaware of his hidden, perverted intentions. And her lips. Maker, how could he forget the way she looked to him before she began her Harrowing? The dusty pink of her lips taunted him.

“Are you Templar Cullen?” Her voice sent a shiver down his spine.

“Y-yes!” He stumbled on his thoughts, “Is there… is there a problem?”

Asher blinked absently before spilling into a wide smile. “Not at all. I just wanted to see you today to thank you for your work last night. I don’t remember much after the Harrowing and we’ve never met prior… so I figured I would stop by and see you.”

Cullen sucked in a breath. “I see…”

“But if you are busy at the moment, I completely understand.” Asher replied abruptly.

“No, not at all.” He blushed, casting aside his gaze. “I mean… we are all quite busy here but… you are not taking up my time. You can… come talk to me… anytime.”

“Someone’s got a crush on you.” Jowan popped up from behind Asher.

She quickly spun in his direction, her smile blinding. “Stop it! You’re making him uncomfortable.”

Jowan smirked, “In all the right places.”

“Jowan,” Asher lowered her voice to a stern yet her laughter remained, “You’re awful. I’m so sorry you had to hear that, Ser Cullen. I promise we won’t bother you anymore.”

Before Cullen could force a proper reply, the two mages skidded away. His stare lingered a second too long as he observed Asher walk down the hallway. Her usual twinkle blue robes that she wore were now replaced with a shorter, more combat-ready green ensemble. The high collar was slightly unzipped below her chin to reveal a fleck of skin. Her waist and chest were covered by a snug corset that served to protect her from assailants at close combat while her belt now held more space for potions and the like. The boots that came up to her knees were study, yet light enough for fast reflexes. Everything about her new robes was meant to represent a stark fening. She was no longer an apprentice who could innocently get by in life. Her abilities as a mage could now deem her an enemy of the public should she lose control of her powers.

It was a dark reality that Cullen had to come to terms. He proceeded in the direction of the second floor from the dinning hall where he was assigned to patrol the stockroom today. Cullen did not particularly mind this task. If he were to spend his waking hours working with either templars or mages, he much preferred the the latter. Today it was Owain who would grace his presence - a mage who voluntarily became Tranquil. They spent a few shifts together in the past as Owain answered every question that came to his mind when it came to Tranquility.

‘A silence amongst the noisy mayhem’ as Owain had put it once. His desire to escape that madness grew more logical by the day. Cullen was growing tired of hearing the impending doom that so many of his fellow templars had whispered in hushed gossip. Darkspawn emerging to the South. Political trouble brewing to the West. A Qunari threat looming to the North. There was not a single day that passed without grave news. Denerim was in turmoil as well and King Cailan was arriving in Ostagar soon for his assault on the ever increasing Darkspawn forces. No one discussed anything in the open but everyone knew something was slowly escalating in the shadows.

To keep his mind at bay, Cullen preferred the company of his fantasies over the threats that plagued everyone’s thoughts. He imagined himself retiring in a small village near a wide forest, similar to his hometown in Honnleath, where he would wake up to the early morning sunrise. His bed would stir at his movement as he would lean over to peck a fleeting kiss upon an exposed shoulder before leaving the chambers of his room. The black tea he set in the evening would begin boiling as he fought to keep his mabari hound quiet from excitement of a morning stroll. They would walk down the footpath, toward the open farm fields to greet his neighbors who had already begun their busy day. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to stumble on a twig of crystal grace to pick. Upon their return, he would notice the woman sitting on the porch of their home with two cups of brewed tea and a morning meal. She would give him this coy smile that prompted his sanity to blank, hiding within her oversized blanket that covered a naked form beneath. Her voice would proclaim itself in a song, “Good morning, love.”

Then the truth would sink in once more.

He had dedicated his life to the Order. His daydream of living in some Maker forsaken village was out of the question. Most likely he would spend the remainder of his life overseeing new templar recruits than saunter with a mabari hound. And the worst part of this reality was that the woman whom he wished would fit like a missing puzzle piece into his life could never take a foot out of the Circle’s jurisdiction. Like him, she was bound by duty. There would be no opportunity to snuggle at her backside and shower her neck with his affection. His juvenile fantasy was just that - juvenile. The world did not contour to his wishes.

“You appear to be down today, Ser Templar.” Owain’s voice appeared before Cullen, snapping him back to his responsibilities. “Shall I request a different Templar so that you may take leave to regain your strength?”

“Owain,” Cullen croaked, still foggy from the works of his imagination. “No. I apologize for that. I am well enough to perform my duties. Please do not worry.”

The Tranquil mage cocked his head slightly, “I cannot feel worry, Ser Templar. I simply want for everyone to perform at their peak capacity.”

“Yes, well… I am sorry for causing you any doubt,” Cullen continued his apology, “I was just lost in thought. You have my full attention now.”

“You seem to be in your thoughts very often as of late, Ser Templar. Could it be not I, but you who is worried over something?” Owain pressed on.

Cullet let out a chuckle, “You are perceptive as usual. We could not have a stockroom keeper better than yourself.”

“Please do not attempt to sway my attention from this matter with flattery. Your current state of affairs is my main objective at the present.”

“And I appreciate your concern but honestly, it is not something we need to dwell on.” Cullen kept to his calm demeanor to the best of his abilities. It was useless to express anger to a Tranquil but it was certainly no challenge for them to evoke the frustration of others.

“Perhaps your mind is distracted with Madame Amell? The word spread rather quickly of your assignment to her Harrowing. Your oblivious attention to her facets is quite obvious to many.”

“Maker’s Breath!” Cullen hissed under his nose. “Why must everyone be fixated on her today? I am neither distracted by ‘Madame Amell’ nor any of her facets.”

“A statement that is up for debate,” Owain replied simply, “But you are not the only person who has had their eyes on her today. I witnessed a many muted conversations between Madame Amell and Ser Bradley. It is most curious.”

Cullen perked at the statement. It was no secret that Asher and Jowan were close friends. They arrived at the Tower roughly a few weeks apart and remained inseparable since. While Asher remained diligent in her studies, it was not uncommon for Jowan to drag her into his shenanigans that typically ended in a harsh reprimand from their superiors. Owain took note of Cullen’s interest to continue.

“Last I saw, they requested a form for a Rod of Fire. Most peculiar. I informed them that it must be signed by a Senior Enchanter in order to be approved for use.” He paused, “Perhaps Madame Amell wishes to continue her training straight out of a Harrowing. Or, perhaps Ser Bradley is up to his usual mischief.”

A sudden fear overcame his mind. Cullen tensed, clenching his fists at the thought. He struggled to formulate the following sentence. “I… am unsure of how… what to make of this, Owain. Would it be acceptable for me to… take a short leave… for a moment?”

Owain nodded without replying. He turned back to the stockroom table without any prior investment, as if he did not just participate in a conversation. Cullen took the cue and spun around toward the flight of stairs. He rushed to descend down a floor toward the massive library where he typically would find Asher residing among the shelves. His judgement was clouded with the idea of preventing the worst from occurring. Tranquility is one punishment but betrayal of the Order is a sentence to death. Cullen could not focus on anything clearly as he brushed by a group of young apprentices who cowered at his foreboding appearance.

His armor clinked loud against the quiet stillness of the first floor library. He stormed through each aisle of books, frantically glancing around. The elder mages paid him no attention, safe for the quick glance of disdain for his ruckus. Cullen searched desperately for a sign. A hint of green from her sleeve. The dark brown hue of her passing hair. A soft giggle that would set his blood aflame with need. His search came to fruition.

Sitting at one of the tables that nestled perfectly into a corner, Asher was scribbling something down on a small parchment. Cullen halted at the end of the aisle, his breathing stopping at the sight. She was still here and alone, away from any devious influence. Exquisite. Asher blinked suddenly before glancing up to his gaze. Her face did not hide the confusion that spread in her eyes.

“Ser Cullen,” She began, “We meet again..?”

“Please don’t do it.” Cullen cut her off. He began his approach, noticing her unnerving response by squirming into the wall. He kneeled at her side, coming face to face with her cowering posture. She gripped the parchment close to her chest. “Whatever Jowan is trying to convince you to do, please don’t do it.”

Asher gaped at his proclamation. “I… I don’t understand what you’re trying to imply.”

Cullen placed one hand on her lap, a move under normal circumstances he would never perform in his wildest dreams. “I beg you. Please reconsider.”

“Ser Cullen, I think you are under an incorrect impression.” She barely let out a whisper. A flush of red crept across her face. “Please remove your hand.”

His mind finally focused as Cullen realized what he had just done. He retreated his hand instantly, reverting back to a bumbling mess. “Lady Amell… I… what I mean to say is… please forgive my… Andraste preserve me.”

Asher looked away, refusing to make eye contact as Cullen rose to his feet. His tall stature towering over hers did not help the situation. Taking a wide stride backwards, Cullen positioned himself away to a less threatening stance. Asher kept her focus on the opposite shelf as she spoke up again.

“You do not need to fret over me.” She turned in his direction with steeled eyes that gave no hint of hesitancy, “I am quite capable of keeping myself in line.”

A woeful dread overcame Cullen at the realization of her conclusion. “No… Lady Amell… I did not mean to imply that I questioned your loyalty to the Circle… I merely…”

Merely what, he thought. Wanted to keep her safe within the confines of his authority? Chain her to servitude of the Templar Order for her own well-being? Lock her up from what little freedom she had within the Circle?

“I merely… merely care for you.” He blurted out.

Asher’s lips parted. Just as they did the night before at her Harrowing, Cullen stared at the disoriented state of her affairs. How he wanted to close the gap between them. How he wished to trap her here in the library, in the presence of everyone’s eyes, and kiss away all of her troubles. How he desired her to respond to him the same way he pined for affection.

“I misunderstood,” She licked her bottom lip and he swore he felt the entire Tower shake, “I apologize.”

Caught in his own delusions, Cullen could not react quick enough as Asher slid out of her chair. She stepped around him, careful to not brush his armor as she slipped from his grasp. The scent of lavender that escaped from her assaulted his senses. Asher turned the corner and fled the library quicker than he could call out to her. Cullen remained immobilized in his tracks. Neither the Order nor his responsibilities as a Templar could will him to go against her. He remained devoted to a fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot damn. I'm having way too much fun with this story. Kill me now. Innocent, young Cullen is innocent.
> 
> Come say hi :) https://talinlove.tumblr.com/


	3. Contagious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher shares her secret.

9:30 Dragon

* * *

 

Word of blood magic within the Circle walls spread like wildfire. Jowan managed to escape the Tower utilizing forbidden magic of all things, leaving behind a woman he loved and a friend he betrayed. Cullen’s worst fear had come to life. Initially, he was furious. Asher had lied to him, casting aside his warning against Jowan. He paced his quarters upon learning of the incident. The will to punch something, anything really, seeped into his mind as anger rumbled within. He was infuriated with Jowan for dragging along others into his vile plans. He was infuruated with his lover who took advantage of Asher’s kindness. But most of all, he was infuriated with Asher for placing her trust in someone who had no regard for her safety. How could she be so naive to fall for Jowan’s dedication of love for a woman she had no prior connection? Why commit to Jowan’s word and not his?

Of course he knew the answers to all of his questions. The obvious was that Asher knew Jowan longer. They were close friends that spent years on developing their relationship. Meanwhile, Cullen was simply another Templar who she encountered once under unfavourable circumstances. Now the result of her fate was the only thing that kept him sane. She was favoured by both First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir. Would they cast her aside for making one mistake against years of dedicated contribution to the Circle? Cullen could not contain himself at the thought.

There was nothing in his power that he could do to save her. The announcement of her judgement had been postponed for one more day while she sat in the dungeons, awaiting her future. He desperately wished he could will himself to visit her. If they were to never spend another day together, perhaps he would wield enough courage to profess his feelings in a thwarted effort to achieve some happiness in this blasted place. But that was simply it - a pile of could, would, and wishes. He was not brave enough to face her. When in mattered the most, Cullen could not convince himself to say the words he craved to dispel from deep within.

Adjusting his armor, Cullen finally came around to leaving the quarters to begin the day’s assignments. His first task was to report to the Knight-Commander of the past week’s duties followed by a patrol of the third floor corridors. He gathered his documents in a neat stack and tucked the papers under his arm before proceeding. The passing Templars shot a few glances his way. This was not out of the norm. Rarely did he find the company of his coworkers enjoyable - not with the way they ridiculed the apprentices and made repulsive remarks on the Enchanters. It did not take long for many of them to notice his disdain of their association. Some began calling him ‘mage apologist’ among other, more defiling names behind his back.

The Knight-Commander’s office door was slightly ajar as Cullen approached the room. He knocked lightly as he was signaled from inside to proceed forth. Cullen stepped in as his heart sank to his soles at the sight before him.

The First Enchanter stood beside Asher as she handed over a document to Greagoir who sat behind his desk. She glanced his way, catching sight of his bewildered expression at the door. Asher turned back to Irving as he spoke.

“Thank you for all of your consideration.” He announced as he placed a palm at her shoulder, “I am most pleased that we arrived at the same conclusion.”

“Certainly,” Greagoir replied, glancing to Cullen from the corner of his eye, “I believe we are now keeping this young mage from her studies. Please feel free to escort yourselves out of the office. I look forward to hearing what new skills you will acquire.”

Asher gave a low bow in response, pausing for a moment before joining Irving in their departure. Cullen stepped aside as the two of them briskly walked past, neither giving him any attention. His mind began to race once more which Greagoir quickly took notice.

“I see you are lost in your head as usual, Rutherford.” He stated firmly.

Cullen looked back at his superior. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“I’m sure you have heard of the latest gossip circulating our facilities,” Greagoir sighed, setting aside the papers in the drawer of his table, “It appears that the mouths of this Tower can never keep silent.”

“Pardon?” Cullen breathed out.

“That mage you monitored during her Harrowing - Amell. She was involved in the recent breakout of Apprentice Bradley. Or rather, she was involved in Irving’s investigation of the matter.” Greagoir grimaced, “Had he informed me of his plans earlier, we wouldn’t have to keep a mage locked up on false pretenses. Instead, we had to begin our own investigation on the matter to solidify Irving’s word.”

“You mean,” Cullen spoke slowly, mindful of his words, “She was innocent?”

“Innocent of her involvement with Bradley’s plan to escape the Circle. Amell is not innocent in her distrust of approaching me for guidance.” Greagoir mumbled under his nose. “Idiot girl almost got herself killed if she acted on her own. Lucky for her, she had enough Templars who spotted her approaching Irving. Her detailed account of her actions also matched all eye witnesses perfectly. It was her dumb luck and meticulous nature that saved her ass.”

Cullen attempted to process the new information. She was safe. Not only that, she acted beyond his expectations.

“Her report mentioned you as well, Rutherford. Including your proclamation that a number of Senior Enchanters confirmed who had heard your speech nearby.”

His attention quickly snapped into focus. Cullen squeezed the documents in his hand. “I… Knight-Commander… it was...“

“Fraternization.” Greagoir declared, “You were willing to place your feelings above the law. We kept close watch on your for the last few days. Thankfully, you did not have the bright idea to organize an escape plan for Amell while she remained in the dungeons. Your stupidity dragged you into deep waters but at least your fear of the Order kept you from sinking.”

“I - Yes, sir. You are correct.” Immediately Cullen confessed, “I allowed my emotions to guide my actions rather than my devotion for the Order.”

Greagoir rose as he extended his hand for the report. The furrow of his brow could intimidate any Templar into a confession. “Do not make me regret looking the other way for your negligence to duty, Rutherford. I will not tolerate a second mistake.”

“Understood, sir!” Cullen nearly jumped from his spot as he rushed to turn over his papers. His gaze remained lowered to the ground. “I will not disappoint you, sir!”

Grasping the documents, Greagoir returned to his seat. “Just get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

Cullen barely blurted out, “Yes, sir!”

He whisked around to escape the office faster than he could hear another remark from the Knight-Commander. Cullen rushed down the hallway, averting eye contact from any passing Templar that jumped out of his way. He stopped before the stairway, focusing on his breathing to calm the nerves. Whether it was Greagoir’s respect for Irving or his belief in Asher’s resolve, Cullen could not fathom to comprehend his decision to let him off the hook. Much less, completely ignore the obvious breach in protocol for his actions. By now, practically the entire Tower knew of his fancy for Asher and the rumors were not dying any time soon. Cullen gathered himself, taking in a deep breath, and continued down the steps to greet his daily patrol.

The fury he held earlier that morning had all but dissolved as the news sunk in his brain. Cullen shamefully misjudged Asher. Instead of trusting her decision, he had spent the past few days condemning her for the exact reason he was most guilty to. She had acted to the best of her judgement given the situation and made the decision to keep him from getting unnecessarily involved. Without him realizing it, her dismissal of his warnings was what kept him from irrationally throwing away his career and risking her welfare. She behaved as an adult while he remained a child who could not see beyond his present needs. It was disgraceful.

He spent the rest of the day in vigilant focus on his daily tasks. Cullen did not want any more rumors of his speculated captivation with her to persist. At least not while all eyes kept firm on him throughout the day. His musings no longer solely affected him, after all.

Cullen concentrated on the evening with a routine sweep of the floors as the mages began preparing for the night. While most Templars neglected this task, Cullen sought to use the opportunity of quiet retreat to wander within the halls in hopes of stealing a glance her way. The first night he was unsuccessful. Asher had already retreated to the privacy of her quarters much to his displeasure. The second night he nearly stumbled into Senior Enchanter Wynne who had returned from her travels from Denerim. She had given him a curt smile as she stood before the Mage Quarters and asked about the weather that Kinloch Hold had recently witnessed in her absence. The third night he missed Asher by a second as she slid away with her nose deep into another tome, completely unaware of his existence. He was ready to give up his fruitless endeavor after a few weeks until luck finally dropped in his favour.

That night to his surprise, she had remained in one of the libraries, sitting behind a large table with books sprawled all around while she took notes. Her eyes fixated on the text, thoroughly enamoured with the words that filled her thoughts. Cullen hesitated at the doorway, unsure if he should take the chance that fate had provided for him. Before he could convince himself to flee, Cullen finally spoke up after what appeared to be an prolonged eternity.

“Good evening.”

Asher stopped her transcribing. She looked up from her table to meet his uneasy stare. The pit of his stomach tightened anew after not seeing her for so long. His throat dried and his confidence shriveled. He was back at the beginning, completely in stupor and blinded by her charm.

A smile spread as Asher gently replied, “Good evening, Ser Cullen.”

Her voice was lyrium that he frantically craved. His self-control crumbled from her kindness and his craving for her resurfaced immediately. Cullen held his ground, albeit opposed to the fervor that clashed against his restraint. His voice lowered to a scorching sigh. “May I join you?”

He sensed demur in her silence but it quickly disappeared as Asher broke into another warm expression. “I don’t mind, though I’m afraid my readings may bore you to tears.”

Cullen took a leap of faith as he approached her carefully, “I highly doubt that.”

He placed himself across the table, mindful to give her plenty of space for escape should she wish it. Asher continued to observe him with caution as she spoke. “Even my fellow mages are not so keen on spending endless hours learning new spells into the night with me. If you grow tired of this, please feel free to take your leave. I will not be offended.”

A sudden wave of determination washed over him as he smirked. “You could never do anything to tire me tonight.”

In an instant he regretted his words.

“I mean… I’m sorry. That… that came out wrong.”

Asher let out an unexpected laugh. Her shoulders bounced with each sound that escaped her throat. “You are unpredictable to a fault, Ser Cullen. Whatever shall I do with you?”

Cullen leaned in slightly. The blush on his cheeks deepened with each passing second. "I'll be fine with whatever you decide, Lady Amell."

It was her turn to burn. Maker, how he relished in watching her skin flush. If embarrassment affected her so much, what other mark could he make to stain that surface? If not pink, would it change to a deep purple if he showered her neck with kisses that would leave her gasping for more? Andraste's flaming sword, he was going insane.

Cullen tried to hide his mottled face. “My awkward nature aside, what are you studying this evening, if I may ask?”

Her eyes suddenly lit with excitement. Cullen felt a jolt of lightning pass him at her quick change in atmosphere. The question stirred a response he could never anticipate as he felt sweat form at his nape. Asher leaned in as well, setting her hands over the pile of books, gingerly pressing her fingers to the pages.

“You have to keep it a secret." She exhaled, "You cannot tell this to anyone. Not the First Enchanter. Not even Ser Greagoir.”

Uneasiness crept over him. Cullen huddled in his seat, fearing what he was about to hear. Was this another test? Was his loyalty about to be questioned again? Could he withstand another lecture from Greagoir or worse, a punishment so severe that it would keep him permanently separated from her. He decided to challenge his destiny against all odds.

“A-alright. I promise.”

Asher took in a breath, her chest rising ever so delicately to his taste.

“I want to one day succeed the First Enchanter." She released, "At my Harrowing, I spoke to the Spirit of Purpose and told him that I wanted my compassion to drive my actions - lead my purpose. I want to help those in need. The more knowledge I gain, the more I can give to the world. Just like the First Enchanter who looks after all of his mages, I want to become the kind of person that others depend on for guidance and protection.

“Wynne had to depart again not too long ago. She said she was requested by the Grey Wardens to assist a matter is Ostagar. But once she returns, she promised to take me under her wing to study the craft of Spirit Healers. She may most likely succeed the First Enchanter before I do but that does not stop me from trying. It is exhilarating to know that I have the capability to reach the same heights as my superiors if I dedicate myself to the art.”

It was too late. He was in too deep, too lost in her innocent glee. Her lips spoke words that his mind tried so fiercely wanted to crush. Without thinking twice, he reach out to place his hand over hers, squeezing gently. Cullen let out the breath he had withheld in anticipation. “Your enthusiasm is contagious. I keep falling in love with it every time.”

Asher perked, grasping his hand, fingers intertwined with his. “Isn’t it exciting? Just thinking of all of the possibilities, all of the outcomes that one action can create to pave an array of different futures. It is contagious to even-!”

She took a pause. Her eyes widened as she inhaled through her nose. The skin from cheek to ears began to ripen with a vivid shade of red. Asher jerked her hand away, nearly losing her balance on the chair as she scrambled to her feet. Realization lurked and set in her dwindling smile.

“I’m so sorry. I need to… you need to… yes.”

Cullen took the opportunity to launch himself forward while she attempted to find words. He stepped around the table, his shoulders broadening as he sealed off her exit.

“It is exciting,” He announced over her mumbling, silencing her rebuttal, “I find your enthusiasm exciting, as well as your dedication in your studies, and your fascination for the craft. I love all of it.”

Asher lowered her head, keeping her eyes shut. Cullen did not dare move closer.

“Thank you,” He dropped his voice to a whisper, “Thank you for sharing your secret with me. I promise… I won’t tell a soul.”

The will to remain resolute pushed him away. Cullen turned on his heels, unable to look at her blushing face as he darted out of the library. He did not see her reaction. He did not want to challenge his adamant discipline for fear of losing himself in her eyes, falling into that vicious cycle all over again. She was too captivating to ignore. Too hypnotizing to avoid. Too enchanting to dismiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would say let’s just cut to the chase and jump into the sack but we all know that tag says ‘slow burn’. Burn, baby, burn!
> 
> Come say hi :) https://talinlove.tumblr.com/


	4. Particular View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher contemplates on the fraternities.

9:30 Dragon

* * *

 

Asher stared at the high ceiling of her quarters until the sun crept idly through the windows the following morning. Her eyes felt heavy and skin puffy around her nose. There was a dull pain that throbbed at her temples that only magnified as she pulled herself up from the pillow. Asher sat at her bed in silence, observing the pattern on the dark wood of her floor. Like the swirls that decorated the surface, her mind kept spinning in every direction.

The first time she could have taken it as a blunder of words caught in a moment of confusing emotions. His statement echoed in her mind for days after but she did not believe that they could be taken for anything beyond the literal. He said he cared, most likely as any Templar would for the sake of his work. Was that even a word one could use to describe work? She cared for her studies, after all, why not apply it to him as well? It was not as if he was professing his love for her.

That is, until he decided to use that word in a new rearrangement. Not once but twice he spoke of it with the utmost ease. As if it was the simplest thing in the world. As if that word held no heavy meaning behind it. He spoke of his love for her without a sliver of hesitation. He loved her enthusiasm. And her dedication. And her fascination. All of it. In one, brief statement. He love it all.

Asher walked up to the mirror in the common room vanity. It was still too early for most people to get up and she decided to take the opportunity to hide as much of her tired appearance as possible. The fatigue that stared back at her through the reflection was surreal. Her usual uplifting demeanor was overshadowed with confusion, feebleness, and exhaustion. The dark circles that formed under her eyes strained her cheeks. Asher pulled her hair back to examine the damage. She did not want others to see her in this state of disarray. It was uncalled for.

Today was supposed to be spent in a new chapter she began the night prior with a tome Wynne had provided. The plan was to wake up, have a quick breakfast, indulge in more studies, remember to eat throughout the day, and then pass out on the bed at midnight. It was routine by now - automatic. This was the only way she could distract herself from the loss of her friend. Jowan's actions struck too deep a wound that just kept tearing into her the more she contemplated on it. He chose to follow his heart when it came to Lily. Asher could not fault him for that. How could she keep him from expressing what he truly felt for another person that he never could with her? As his friend, Asher felt it would be unfair to expect him to simply follow along on whichever adventure they would imagine next. They were both getting older and life was bound to set them on two separate paths. And yet, his choice to go down a path she could never follow pained her to no end. As soon as he slit his hand, that's when it sunk in for Asher. She lost her friend forever.

She did not want to think about it for too long, not when the emotions were still so raw and impulsive. What's worse, now Ser Cullen was rattling her from within. His attractive words had no place in her life at the moment. It was a wicked joke that the world wanted to play on her as it ripped away a dear friend from her grasp, leaving her broken and incomplete. And now the world was punching her in the gut as she questioned her own feelings for a man that she could never even consider. Not when the obvious dilemma loomed. He was a Templar and she was a Mage. There was nothing more to it.

Grabbing her notes after changing into more presentable clothes, Asher slid out of the common room toward the dining area. The morning stillness was soothing. Her footsteps rang through the corridor at the heel, bouncing about without a soul to hear. It was moments like these that made Asher feel an incredible high, as if the entire universe was meant solely for her. There was no distractions from daily responsibilities or the hammering knock of reality. Her thoughts could escalate to new elevations, filling her mind with endless promises. She was a chronic daydreamer, preferring the company of ideas than the complexities of society. The silence was music that she basked in as white noise deafened her ears. It put her in a mood. A calm, tranquil mood.

“It appears that someone is enjoying their morning.”

Asher’s eyes shot open.

“Senior Enchanter,” She grappled to keep her composure, “Good morning, sir.”

Enchanter Uldred stood at the entrance of a nearby meeting room. His stance was tall, hands clasped tight behind his back. There was an aura of hidden wisdom that sparked curiosity in Asher, unsure as to what make out of it. Enchanter Uldred was not as welcoming like the First Enchanter in his demeanor yet he never turned away a pupil seeking knowledge. He was an enigma that she could not unravel.

“I see that you are preparing to begin your studies.” His tone lowered, “It is refreshing to see a former apprentice not rest on their laurels. Your Harrowing was quite the talk, that is, until the recent incident with Jowan.”

“Yes, sir.” Asher tilted from one leg to the other, “I am… heartbroken that Jowan decided the follow the path that he did. His love for another may have been pure but… his willingness to resort to blood magic. That was, most… heartbreaking.”

“An interesting way to describe it. You seem quite disappointed, yet you pity him all the same.” A hint of eagerness slipped.

“It is not pity. I mourn for him. His life outside the Circle - always on the run, always living in fear. I wish he could have found peace with himself in a safer world.” Asher could not contain the sorrow in her voice, “I am heartbroken.”

“Some mages would consider his situation a bliss in comparison to life in a Circle. He is now free from Templar oversight and the Chantry’s rule, after all.” A smile sneaked within his words.

Noticing his concealed change in attitude, Asher shifted in her spot. She had heard talk from other mages who sympathized with the so called ‘mage’s plight’ - mages who considered their situation unjust, comparing their lives to slavery under the Andrastian Chantry rule. They spoke of rebellions in hushed whispers and constantly sought to antagonize others who did not share their view. Asher wondered about the manner many times in the past, unsure herself as to which side to take. Enchanter Uldred was no exception to this school of thought.

“It is not freedom if the status quo still exists. No matter where he goes now, both the Templar Order and the Chantry will be on his heels without giving room to breathe. He may not have been satisfied with his life in the Circle but the current state of affairs does not permit us to live easier on the outside.”

Uldred leaned in, his eyes fixated. “Do you not find that kind of world cruel? Unfair? Immoral?”

The words were tempting with intention. She could sense his gaze burn deep into her core, awaiting an answer he deemed acceptable. Asher could not stand that kind of interrogation - leading others into a conclusion without giving opportunity to formulate their own response.

“It is not up to me to decide whether the world is unfair or not. I am but one person with my own morals and code. Who am I to decide that my take on life is correct?”

“You answer a question with a question.”

“It is simply an opinion within a question. I believe I answered you, sir.”

Uldred cocked his head up. “You certainly possess a particular view. Not the most popular one, I’m afraid, but individual nonetheless. Perhaps, with time, you may evolve it.”

“I merely follow what my instincts tell me. But I also recognize that my inner voice may not be the correct opinion. I leave that to those who hold more wisdom than I.”

“Your seniors will most likely agree to that but I believe a mind that is mature beyond the years of one’s flesh is more capable of wisdom than a mind that has spent most of its existence living through trial and error. You know how to adapt with new information. It is a skill that not many acquire with age.”

“You flatter me, sir.” Asher smiled, taking a step back, “If I am not careful, I might let it get to my head when I should be filling it with something more useful.”

Uldred let out a short laugh. “Indeed. You confirm everything I just said. Perhaps I should let you get back to your studies.”

“Thank you. I hope you have a pleasant rest of the day.” Giving a curt bow, Asher spun around to make her escape.

She could feel her temperature rising. A terror unlike she had ever experience before tugged at her consciousness. The Senior Enchanter had a sly way with words that left Asher unsure of herself. He did not say anything out of the ordinary. There was a growing popularity of Libertarian ideals that kept spreading throughout the Circles in recent years. She was no stranger to this mindset. Freedom for mages. Freedom from the Templar Order. Freedom from the Chantry. It was everything she had heard in the past. And the Senior Enchanter spoke of an ideal future where everyone could live harmoniously. Who wouldn't wish for a kind of world where people trusted one another? The concept was tempting to say the least.

But not for her to decide. Her knowledge did not extend beyond the Circle. The type of environment that the First Enchanter had developed within the Tower walls did not match the outside. Even if the mages here create bonds with the Templars, could that way of thinking be applied across the nation? Would everyone in Ferelden comply? Would they in all of Thedas?

Asher walked into the dining room where she made her way over to the breakfast stand that was already prepared for the early morning crowd. She picked up a bowl to fill it with porridge and a handful of small bread loaves to take to the library for later. Her nerves flared about as she worked to reinforce her state of tranquility. Asher turned around to start her descend back to the library. She caught a glimpse of a growingly familiar, unruly head of hair at the corner of the room. Her heart sank.

Caught mid bite, Cullen observed with the same stupor.

Without allowing herself to revert back to the midnight musings, Asher nearly yelled out the following, “Is it good today?”

“What?” The word spilled from him just as quickly. His face remained in shock.

“The porridge. Is it good today?”

“Oh,” Cullen gulped, finishing the bite, “I-it is.”

“That’s fantastic!”

She jerked to move forward. It was so embarrassing. She was embarrassing. Rather than bury her thoughts safe from his judgement, here she was, laying out all of her insecurities before him. She wanted the floor to rip apart just so that she could willingly jump into the pits of hell if it meant hiding from that golden gaze,

“You said it wasn’t for you to decide.”

It was her turn to swallow her words. “What?”

Cullen adjusted in his seat, straightening himself. “You seem flustered and talked to yourself just now. There is something that is not for your to decide?”

“Oh,” Asher parroted.

He motioned to the seat across from him with his eyes. “It’s a bit too early in the day to be so worried over… something. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She swore her legs moved on their own as she shuffled to the chair. “N-no… I was just thinking a little too hard. You’re right. It’s too early in the morning to be contemplating on… things.”

Asher set her bowl on the table, sliding into the seat. Cullen tilted his head. “Are these things important to you?”

“No.” She replied a little too sharply for her taste.

He pressed on, the seriousness growing in his voice, “Should I be concerned about these things?”

“N-no!”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “You’re not very convincing at the moment, Lady Amell.”

“It’s ‘Asher’.” She blurted out.

“And you’re awful at changing subjects.” Cullen laughed, “Asher.”

That laugh was too enticing in her view.

“You don’t need to add the ‘ser’ with me either.” He smiled sheepishly. “Just ‘Cullen’ is fine. We’re no different in our respective ranks.”

Asher took a spoonful of porridge, averting her gaze. “That's logical.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

She choked on her food. It did not go unnoticed as Cullen reached over to hand a napkin. “I went to bed a bit too late last night. Must have ruined my pattern. That’s all.”

“Well, I hope you get enough rest tonight.” Cullen looked down at his bowl now.

Asher sat in bewilderment. He did not dare bring up anything that transpired the night before. If it was not fresh in her mind, those words may as well not have been spoken. She fidgeted. Perhaps it was for the better? Perhaps he did not see anything unusual in his statement and it was all merely in her head? Perhaps this was her chance to overcome her unexplainable fascination with the stubble that curved around his mischievous lips?

She breathed out to center herself.

“So… could you at least tell me what caused you such worry?” Cullen raised his head. The warmth of his eyes was captivating.

Asher stiffened. She was unsure of how much of Libertarian rhetoric he could take. No matter how easy it felt to speak to him, Cullen was still, without any argument, a Templar. Asher decided to test the grounds. “I had a conversation with Senior Enchanter Uldred. He is a very… complex person. It is a bit difficult for me to speak to him. He has much knowledge and it causes one to ponder… a lot.”

“Oh,” Cullen suddenly froze. “Do his words bother you that much?”

Asher shook her head, noticing his tensed reaction. “Not at all. He has interesting viewpoints and I tend to think for far too long, unfortunately. Wynne says that I sometimes need to make things simpler, but I guess it is in my nature to make everything unnecessarily convoluted. However, it doesn’t help the situation considering I had to turn down the Senior Enchanter in the past.”

“From what?” His eyes darkened.

“It’s a bit embarrassing, actually.” Asher fixed the strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned onto the table. She could not decipher whether his interest in her was out of duty or simply the way the conversation flowed. Her voice lowered. “A while back, before my Harrowing… Senior Enchanter Uldred had approached me about continuing my training. He offered to become my mentor if I passed the Harrowing. The Enchanter is a talented Arcane Warrior and he proposed taking me under his supervision to continue his research.

“I was quite… taken aback by his offer. And very honoured that he considered me while still an apprentice. However, I had already made up my mind then to study under Wynne. I had to turn him down and it was very embarrassing for me. I hoped I did not anger him.”

Cullen leaned in as well. His voice softened to a near whisper. “Was he angry with you?”

Asher blinked at his statement, taking in the severity of his words. The back of her neck tingled. She jolted back in her seat. “Heaven’s no! Enchanter Uldred is very kind despite my decision. It's just that he has a very sophisticated personality. He is the type of person that makes his students think twice about everything and that is something I admire in an instructor, no matter how intimidating it may be. If anything, I wish to provide the same style of mentorship when I become a teacher myself. Spoon feeding information is not the same as forcing your pupils to chew on the meaning.”

“It sounds like you have a lot of respect for him.” Cullen replied slowly.

“I do!” She perched in her seat. “I hope I did not give the impression otherwise.”

She cursed herself in her mind. The worst possible outcome would be for her to antagonize Cullen against the mages. She should have been more careful with her words. Instead, the jumbled mess of thoughts in her head made the situation worse. Asher felt lightheaded. The panic kicked her brain into overdrive, analyzing each scenario that could play out in his reply.

His expression softened as a smile crept at the corner of his mouth. Asher swore her heart stuttered and skipped a few frames.

“You did not.”

The silence that followed dragged for an eternity. Her dumbfounded expression continued to look back at his gentle demeanor as he focused on his bowl. She could not pick him apart. Cullen's approach to mages was unlike anything she had seen prior. Most Templars kept to themselves, choosing to avoid eye contact and refer to her by title rather than name. As if she was not worthy enough to be acknowledged by an individual monicker. The Knight-Commander was the only exception to this rule as he addressed everyone his equals despite their status. There was an air of security and trust that Asher grew used to. She figured it was because she knew him for so many years, practically looking up to the Knight-Commander as a father.

“Well, I do apologize for keeping you here for so long,” Asher collected her food, noticing the porridge that had long since cooled down. “The library awaits.”

Cullen looked up from his seat as she stood up. Her heart hammered loudly in her ears at the sight. “Not at all. Thank you for joining me this morning.”

She mustered a wide grin. “Thank you for having me.”

As she gathered herself to step out of the dining hall, Asher took one glance back. And now, there was something new before her. Cullen talked to her as an equal but not in the same manner as Ser Greagoir did. While one preferred to add a few nicknames to mock her occasional bout of hooliganism, the other spoke as if her name was something precious and unique to her. It was alarming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for stopping by. I'm getting more and more excited to continue exploring Asher's principles in the face of a crumbling order.
> 
> Come say hi :) https://talinlove.tumblr.com/


	5. Addicted to the Taste of Fascination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen cannot hold in his thoughts.

9:30 Dragon

* * *

 

Templar Revitt stood across the hallway with his hands crossed at his chest. There were two other Templars that Cullen was not familiar with that remained at his side. He furrowed his brow at the spectacle. “ _What_?”

“You haven’t heard the latest news?” Revitt jeered.

“I wouldn’t be asking twice if I did.” Cullen snapped back, stepping out to close the door to his quarters behind.

“That Enchanter Wynne should be returning soon, if she’s even alive after what the Grey Wardens did to the Crown.” Revitt laughed as his lackeys joined in.

“What do you mean?”

Revitt leaned back against the wall, lifting his chin. “Apparently those Maker forsaken Wardens betrayed King Cailan, leaving him to die at the hands of a Darkspawn horde while they fled Ostagar. Teyrn Loghain witnessed the whole ordeal, saving as many of his men as he could, and placing a bounty on those traitors.”

“You sound so broken over the King’s death.” Cullen monotoned.

“With the Grey Wardens gone and the horde advancing north, Greagoir will dispatch the mages any day now.” Revitt huffed under his nose, “It’s about time we see some action around here while pushing those magical freaks on the front line to take the initial blow.”

Cullen tensed. Revitt and his Templars did not let it go unnoticed.

“Even Uldred is rallying the other mages to take up arms against the Darkspawn. Though he thinks they will be rewarded by the Crown for defending Ferelden.” The smirk across Revitt’s face deepened, “A bunch of sorry sods that don’t know their place. Better they be killed whilst dreaming than continue their mage freedom shrill.”

Cullen clenched his fists at his side.

“What’s this?” The Templar to Revitt’s left spoke up, “Is our mage-humping apologist concerned over his precious Free Marcher boor?”

“Watch your tongue, recruit.” Cullen hissed through his teeth, “Or I’ll rip it out of your mouth.”

Revitt threw up his arms. “Touchy! I think we struck a sensitive nerve with this one. Who would have guessed that Rutherford was so committed to that whore?”

Cullen’s hand flew to his sword.

“Stand down, Rutherford.” Greagoir’s voice boom against the hallway walls. Everyone froze, glancing in his direction as Greagoir glided down the corridor with a stare that could kill a man. “What in Andraste’s grace do you think you’re doing?”

“Sir,” Cullen stammered, “I wasn’t thinking-!”

“You sure as hell weren’t thinking, Rutherford!” Greagoir roared. Upon catching sight of Revitt and the others’ snickers, he turned his attention. “And what about you three morons? Ostagar has fallen, King Cailan is dead, the Darkspawn are pillaging Lothering as we speak, and you can find the time to fuck around as your comrades are preparing for the battle to come?”

“No, sir!” Rivett perked. “We were just informing Templar Rutherford that...”

“I think we’ve all heard enough from you.” Greagoir cut him off, “Get to the dungeons, now. Your patrol has been reassigned.”

“Yessir!” Rivett rushed down the hall as the other two shuffled behind.

The Knight-Commander returned his attention back to Cullen who remained at the doorway. He opened his mouth to make a statement only to be interrupted once more.

“I thought I told you I would not tolerate another mistake from you.”

“No, sir.” Cullen shrunk in his space.

“I thought I made it clear that you were to keep it in your pants.”

“Quite clear, sir.”

“Then explain to me why you were about to draw your sword on a fellow Templar?” Greagoir spat. “For what? Her rosy pink honor that you fabricated in that empty skull of yours? What, too crude for your taste, Rutherford?”

Cullen bit the inside of his mouth. “I have no explanation, sir.”

Greagoir stormed up to his side. Reaching around, he grasped the collar of Cullen’s undershirt. “I’m giving you a choice, Rutherford. Either you reign in your impulses or I will banish you from the Order to serve the rest of your days out in the Deep Roads.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, _what_ , Rutherford?”

Cullen steeled his composure. “Yes, sir. I won’t allow this absurdity to continue.”

Greagoir released his grip as he took a step back. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, inhaling his annoyance. “Look, I’m not trying to imply that what you are feeling for someone is foolish. We cannot dictate what captivates the heart, after all. But as a Templar, you swore your allegiance to the Order first. Just as her duty is to the Circle.”

Cullen’s eyes fell to the floor, unable to look at Greagoir.

“The best thing you can do is make sure she does not fall prey to a demon. Beyond that, well… we do not allow ourselves to ponder on that.”

“I understand, sir.” He mumbled low.

“Evening will be upon us soon,” Greagoir glanced at the window above them. “Finish whatever tasks you have remaining and take the rest of the day. There is a storm brewing over the lake tonight.”

“Yes, sir…”

Cullen gripped the haft of his sword tight as he walked around the Knight-Commander. The early sprinkle of rain began washing against the Tower walls. Its patter vibrated gently as Cullen marched down the stairs.

It had been merely a year since he took his vows with the Order. Ever since he was a child, Cullen had dreamed of nothing more than taking up the Templar mantle. His home in Honnleath did not have much opportunity for him to achieve that goal but the passing Templars humoured him nonetheless. When his time came after he was hand picked by a Knight-Captain, Cullen began his formal training under the Chantry. It was everything he had envisioned and then some, absorbing anything the Chantry Mothers presented to him for his studies. Each day passed was a paradise that fulfilled his deepest desire to become the kind of person who would help those in need. Not unlike what Asher wished for.

It must have been a vicious joke for the world to ridicule him as such. Among all of the people he would encounter in his lifetime, he had to be tempted by a mage who shared his ideals. It would be easier if she was a selfish egotist that could easily cast him aside. Better yet, another mage that trembled at his presence, choosing to fall prey to the plague than spend an afternoon in his company. But no, that would be too easy.

She was an addiction stronger than the lyrium he ingested. Her eyes smiled with genuine empathy. The curve of her lips contorted around the benevolent words she spoke. That subtle birthmark that rested on her neck teased him brazenly. The way she tenderly held her hand at someone’s shoulder when she conversed with them made him crave at least a tenth of the attention she gave others. She did not deceive people for her own gain. The words she presented before others were always sincere and, to an extent, raw with emotion. He could become drunk just from hearing her talk, addicted to the taste of her fascination with the world.

Cullen cursed under his breath. Whether it was adolescent hunger that drove him or an honest passion for her character, Cullen could not bring himself to toss aside something so precious over his vows. Asher wished the betterment of the Circle. Her hard work to understand magic was driven by a dream to guide others under her compassion. How could he fault her for that principle? It was his own uncontrollable appetite for attention that corrupted her worse than any demon could.

Just as he turned the corner, as if on cue, his mind scattered in a million directions.

There she was once again. Asher crouched against an outer wall which connected to the meeting room that was constantly used for daytime lectures. She had placed one ear to the stone, hugging the surface flush against her body. Her eyes that kept to the ceiling suddenly glanced his way and like a pattern that developed with him, she beamed at his approach.

“Do you hear it?” Her voice sang for him like the lyrium that coursed through his veins.

Walking up to her slowly, he asked, “Hear what?”

“The rain.” Asher signaled him to squat to her side. “The windows are too high for us to look out but if you listen at this spot you can hear the lake water crash at the shore.”

Cullen hunched over, keeping enough distance in case Greagoir decided to pass. “Aren’t you concerned what others might think seeing you huddled in this corner?”

She giggled to herself. “Does it matter? I’d rather listen to the rain than worry what others might presume. Besides, everyone who does matter won’t draw odd conclusions.”

“Oh?” He slumped his shoulder. "And who are these people that matter?”

Asher pursed her lips. “The First Enchanter matters. And Knight-Commander Greagoir. Wynne does too. Even Enchanter Uldred matters to some degree.”

She balanced herself on the balls of her feet as she rose slowly. She patted at her robes, straightening the fabric and dusting off the dirt. The green of her eyes sparkled in the dimmed candlelight, as if inviting him to do something improper.

“I certainly wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression either.”

Cullen stopped breathing. She was going to be the end of him. It was too late to stop his growing obsession no matter how much Greagoir threatened him. The Deep Roads should take him now for all he cared.

“I did not realize that I meant that much to you.” He attempted to keep a smooth exterior as he spoke even though his heart threatened to break out any second.

“Of course you do,” Asher tilted her head, letting out a smile that blinded him. “I care for you.”

She was wicked. No better than a desire demon in disguise, Asher possessed an innocence that was undeniably attractive. But when she said something so suggestive with such purity, he wished for nothing more than to snatch her away from prying eyes and tear apart any barrier that stood between them. His thirst to ravish her in unspeakable ways overpowered his rational thought.

What's worse, his temptation was growing more despicable by the day. Maker knew how pathetic he was. His imagination was no longer chaste and sweet as he pictured Asher in intimate situations. He fantasized over her lounged composure, taking rest at the library table as she dipped her neck for him. He longed to come to her during those late nights. She would laugh and hold out an arm, gesturing him to take it. Her fingers would delicately brush within his hair. He’d lean over her, showering her shoulder with stolen kisses as she sighed into him. She would open for him as he, in turn, would cherish her every offering.

She would give him that same mischievous smile as he worked to reveal the porcelain skin she teased him with. His control would come undone, hoisting her over the pile of scattered text to ruin everything she worked on throughout the day. He'd push into her warmth, basking in the small whimpers he'd elicit as they tried to keep quiet among the bookshelves. The fear of being caught would send him on an adrenaline high. Her arched back would expose the curve of her breasts as she spasmed to catch breath, nearing her climax, begging him to see her through the ordeal. What would he give to have the entire Tower hear her cry as she creamed for him?

Cullen had to practically rip himself away from his illusions in order to focus back on their conversation. By now she looked away from him as she kept an eye on the wall. Her hand rested on the surface, feeling the vibrations from the rain. Cullen cleared his throat before continuing, hoping to hide the perversion in his voice.

"How have your studies been going?"

Asher snapped in his direction. Her wide grin threatened his restraint as she answered. "It's getting more difficult by the day. It is nothing compared to the training we endured as apprentices. There's significantly more theory and a complete breakdown of spells rather than mere regurgitation of incantation. My base understanding of arcane physiology is limited and I'm constantly having to stop in order to look up another term in another text."

She paused as her smile disappeared.

"Though it becomes frustrating very quickly as I recognize how much knowledge I lack. It feels as if all of those years I spent as a trainee were for nothing if I cannot comprehend one simple tome. I begin to wonder whether I'm actually just unintelligent if I cannot master one paragraph without relying on support text."

Cullen fidgeted in his spot. He knew this frustration all too well. His Chantry training was not a stroll either. As he was about to respond with words of sympathy, Asher jumped up, causing him to jerk backwards.

"But when I think about how the First Enchanter had to spent endless hours in the library doing the exact same thing, I am overcome with inspiration."

She was radiant. The Maker must have been testing his patience, eager to see him give in and corner her against that wall.

"It just makes me want to study that much more intensely if it means I can someday become the best version of myself."

 _Intensely_. There were many things he wanted to do intensely other than study ancient text. He was no better than Revitt and his cronies, imagining Asher bite down on her lower lip as he devoured her darling heat, heaving violently against that stone wall, clawing her fingers at his scalp, pleading for him with obscene phrases.

Cullen felt dizzy, too muddled in his thoughts, as he returned to their conversation. He prayed his fancy did not make itself apparent across his face.

"I'm glad that you're still enthusiastic over your studies despite its difficulty." His voice regained some stature, "Templar training is also quite similar in that regard. We cover basic theory as recruits but the real test begins when we apply that knowledge. Most times we screw up and our Captains swoop in to reprimand... but that's just how you learn. You try, fail, and then eventually succeed."

He sensed a sudden hesitation in her breath. Asher scrunched her nose before speaking up. "I only know of Mage studies. What does Templar training entail?"

Cullen halted. None of the mages ever asked that question. No one outside of the Order inquired in his training.

Seeing his obvious stammer, Asher backed on her statement. "S-sorry! If that is an inappropriate question, you do not need to answer."

"Not at all!" Cullen panicked. "I am simply at a loss of words for the moment. I've never had anyone like you ask me that before."

Asher's expression grimaced at his response. "Anyone like me..?"

She understood what he meant. He understood that she knew what he meant. And yet no explanation could possibly ease the tension he just caused. Cullen stared back, mortified with his choice of words. He struggled to come up with some sort of reply that could amend the situation but his mouth merely moved to continue the discussion.

"We are trained in weapon and combat skills. Essentially, our teachings result in well versed warriors that could defend Ferelden should we be called." His voice lowered with each sentence. "Initiates must also exemplify their ability to focus in any given situation. We are taught to recite the Chant of Light and a thorough history of our ancestors."

He paused, unsure how much more he should proceed. The piercing coldness of her eyes did not falter yet her voice remained sweet as she played along. "Do you enjoy it?"

"I did - I do!" Cullen stuttered. "Like you, I am fascinated with my studies. I want to consume everything I am taught."

A saddened smile hinted at the corner of her lips. Her shoulders relaxed as she straightened her stance. "That is wonderful to hear. I too hope that your hard work pays off in the end."

She was about to step around him as Cullen reached out to grab hold of her arm. Instinct kicked in before his brain had time to register his actions. "Please do not misunderstand. It is true - we are taught primarily to subdue mages. We are to act as a counter to your existence. However, a Templar's duty is to the people first. I became a Templar because I want to help those who seek assistance the most. I do not harbour any hatred for mages. I only want to find a peaceful way of coexisting."

Asher placed her hand over his, squeezing gently. His mind burst. "I should apologize. It is not fair for me to cast judgement solely based on past disputes. You have a responsibility to the Order and I did not mean to imply that our friendship should be above that. If the occasion arises, you cannot hesitate to do what you must."

She attempted to wriggle away but Cullen remained stern in his hold. He had to make this right. He had to let her know exactly what he felt for her.

"Besides," She endured, noticing his nervousness. "As Wynne once told me, we cannot move forward if we are in a disagreement. There is no shame in being a mage but even I have to recognize that I can pose a risk to others if I do not work to protect my mind from temptation. That is where you come in. Templars help us keep that serenity. You help keep me grounded."

He frowned at the thought. Cullen released his grip as he asked with a grim calm the following, “Have you heard?”

Asher swayed away from him, confusion setting in. “I’m not sure. What am I supposed to hear?”

Cullen clasped his fist. His eyes darkened. “The King has fallen to Darkspawn. Ostagar has been lost. There is a march going north.”

“But,” Asher barely let out a gasp, “But Wynne is in Ostagar. She went to assist the Grey Wardens…”

“Who have been named traitors by Teyrn Loghain for their betrayal to the King.” His throat dried realizing the severity of his words. “I’m sorry… I don’t know if Wynne managed to escape the horde. Last I heard, the Knight-Commander implied that the Circle is preparing to intercept the Darkspawn. They’ve already reached Lothering.”

He watched the gears shift in her head. Asher opened her mouth only to close it once again with each passing second. He shouldn't have said anything. Maker, why was he so good at instilling fear in her? The lightning that flashed from outside should strike him for his vicious tongue.

“If they’re in Lothering, that cuts off Redcliffe and Sothmere from the West Road to Denerim.” Asher trembled at each word. Her eyes kept to the floor, processing her thoughts. “Their only escape is to the north on the Imperial Highway. Should the Darkspawn go around Lake Calenhad, everyone will be trapped.”

Cullen stiffened. “And Honnleath.”

“What?”

“Honnleath, where I was born,” Cullen muttered, backing away. “It’s a town at the base of the Frostback Mountains. If the Darkspawn begin spreading within the Hinterlands, my family will have to seek refuge.”

“Cullen,” Asher reached out. Her palm hovered over his elbow.

He did not hear anything else after she said after his name. Cullen immediately twisted back for the stairs. Honnleath is hidden enough within the mountain terrain but if the Darkspawn cut off the pass that lead to the highway, the people would have to trudge further uphill to escape. Mia could manage with Branson and Rosalie under both arms. Father might withstand the cold but what of his mother?

“Cullen!”

He twitched back from his thoughts, noticing Asher running up to him midway up the stairs, stopping only to catch her breath.

“I’ll go see the First Enchanter,” She wheezed between each word. “If you go find Ser Greagoir right now, I’m certain he will consider sending you out to Redcliffe to warn the Arl."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"At that point, you’ll have the option to continue to Honnleath on your own.” Asher gasped. "No one will be able to track you and your family could be saved."

"Are you..." He struggled against the lump that formed at the base of his throat. "Are you suggesting that I abandon my post?”

Asher’s eyes widened. She lifted her hand, palm facing him open as she quivered. “How… _how dare you_?"

The venom in her voice was toxic to his ears.

"I’m suggesting that you look beyond your responsibilities to the Circle and save countless others who are in danger unbeknown to their fate. Isn’t that why the Templars exist? Didn't you just state that a Templar's duty is to the people before mages?”

Cullen sensed the pit of his stomach churn.

“I don’t know if Wynne… whether she’s still alive,” Asher fought to keep composure, “I don’t know if her possibilities have ended but the people of Redcliffe still have a chance. And-!”

She cracked.

“I can’t do anything! I can’t do a single thing from this damn tower. But you… you could… possibly.”

Cullen stood before her in silence. Here she was, willing to overlook the reality of forever losing her mentor in order to keep a leveled head for the safety of complete strangers. These were not her family members, friends, or even fellow countrymen. Yet in the face of peril she searched for solutions against all odds. And here he was... his initial reaction was to condemn her for what he perceived as treachery against the Order.

At that moment, he wanted to do nothing more than fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. He wished he could take back his words, swallow the shame, and redeem himself in her eyes. His craving for her threw all logic out the window as he lost himself to the rumbling storm that grew in his heart. Her cheeks had completely flushed red, tears breaking out to roll down her fair skin. Asher did not look in his direction, averting her gaze in favour of a wall than him. The soft gasp of her sob broke everything.

“Forgive me.” The words escaped through tight sealed lips. “It is not right to let you see me like this.”

It was wrong. All of it. Spiraling out of control.

"Asher," His breath caught in his throat. "I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nineteen year old Cullen is nineteen... *wink wink*.
> 
> Come say hi :) https://talinlove.tumblr.com/


	6. The Simple Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher confronts a simple truth.

9:30 Dragon

* * *

 

 _I love you_.

Asher wiped away her tears with the side of her sleeve. “Look at this… we will most likely be called to service soon and I’m bawling my eyes out like a child.”

“Asher…” Cullen’s voice seemed distant.

She noticed the dull throb of a migraine setting in, cursing herself for being so weak and incapable of holding in the waterworks during the moment when it was most dire. Asher placed the palms of her hands to her cheeks, pulling back to hide her face. “I need to find the strength to persevere, otherwise I’ll hinder the other Enchanters and what use am I if I can’t keep myself in check?”

“Asher.” His tone grew strict.

Her nose must have been incredibly red by now from all of that sniffling. She touched the tender flesh as it stung from wear and tear. She flinched, fighting through the pain. “We have to get you to Ser Greagoir. Even if he rejects the proposal, it is still worth a sho-!”

Asher’s thoughts suddenly suspended. Her eyes widened, allowing his words to fully sink into the depths of her mind. She backed up, stepping out into the hallway behind her. He had done it. He managed to say the one phrase she feared most hearing - the one potential she never dreamed possible. And just as the last time, there appeared to be minimum effort on his behalf as he stood before her, expression bashful while staring into the ground. She did not dare to look him in the eye, feeling the flustered flush spread across her face. Her brain apparently also forgot how to breathe as she struggled to keep a steady flow of oxygen to her lungs.

She nearly bolted for the ceiling when his armored hand steadied her from tripping on her feet. Cullen stood over her, the tenderness of his contact heating up in the pit of her stomach. Exhaling out, he leaned in dangerously close, his voice purring at her ear. “Asher… look at me.”

Stubbornly, she shook her head. She could not trust herself in the moment, afraid of what her instinct might do beyond reason.

“I want to look at you.” His words bounced within the chambers of her heart.

Her lower lip began to tremble as more tears threatened to break loose. He was too much and not enough. Too precious and rigid all at once. Gentle and harsh.

“There is no shame in being genuine.” Cullen murmured low. “Your tears are not a sign of weakness. They are a part of your compassion.”

His hands traveled to lay rest at her neck. Fingers sneaked their way into her hair as Cullen tilted her chin up with his thumb. Asher could not will her eyes to open. A strained gasp escaped her as she tried to catch air.

“Please,” He moved in to brush his forehead against hers. “Show me your compassion.”

She was spinning out of control.

The hold at her head tightened. Cullen pressed his nose to her damp cheek, inhaling deep. “Show me your everything.”

Her eyes fluttered, shuddering violently, her hands flying to his chest to keep herself straight. The candles that illuminated the hallway basked on the edge of his jawline. Asher kept her gaze fixated on him, noticing all of the small details she never had the opportunity to observe in the past. For example, the faint scratches left from his combat training. The thin stubble that darkened as it progressed for his neck. The red undershirt that teased from under his armor. The broad shoulders that curved around her figure perfectly.

It would not take much for her to dive in. All she had to do was turn her head slightly in his direction, allowing herself to indulge in his advance. The delicacy of his lips tantalized her. She could get lost in his caress, permit him access to her innermost layers, untangle her guard for his touch, lay exposed only for him.

Easily.

She would freely give him everything in spite her loyalty for the institution of the Circle. The sensation of his warmth against her skin was driving her over the edge. It did not matter anymore whether they were Templar and Mage. In a perfect world, she would give herself into his command, abandoning her work for a single second longer to savor the taste of his breath. She wondered whether he would do the same. Was he as enthralled with her as she to him? Was he willing to cast aside his duty for the Order for one chance at fulfilling a forbidden desire? Just once. That was all she needed, all that she craved despite the better judgement that hollered at her to retain a grip on reality.

For him, she was willing to surrender it all. Perform the absolute crime. For him, she would toss away the life she crafted up to this point and allow all of her possibilities to come to an end.

"Asher," His words cut short to a whisper at the last syllable. He moved in as his lips brushed against the corner of her mouth. "Are you..? Do you love me?"

Love. It was too strong a word. Too strong a question. He said it so effortlessly but what of her? Could she say the same with ease? Surely, on the inside she felt it but could she honestly muster the courage to recite her devotion for him? The bottom line was suddenly quite apparent. No matter how much she wished and pined and longed for the unspeakable to occur, none of it ever could if she didn't voice her feelings for him.

But she was spineless. It was simpler to hide behind her books than face the fact that she cherished Cullen. She was ashamed of her cowardice.

Before Asher could come up with a response, they both jumped at a high pitched shrill that resonated within the hall. The piercing scream tore through the Tower, paralyzing her to the core. Her mind completely emptied of thoughts in that instance. As the sound echoed into silence, Asher began to regain feeling in her legs. Awareness crept in. The cry did not resemble anything human.

“It can’t be...” Cullen snarled as the pieces started forming in his head. His hands abandoned her and shot to his sword on impulse. The absence of his warmth was the final push she needed to fully understand their situation. She knew that sound. To her agony, she was too familiar with its source. Fear was not far behind.

“No,” Asher whispered, her heart pulsating uncontrollably, trembling in place, “Not here.”

“Did they already break our defenses?” Cullen hissed through his teeth. His stare kept to the stairwell. “How in the world did they manage to travel north so quickly? Andraste, preserve me...”

She saw the cogs turn in his mind. He was lost in his thoughts now, unaware of her presence, completely enraptured in whatever scenarios that were playing out for him. She had to warn him. She had to let him know that this was something worse than anything he could imagine. And yet, no matter how hard she forced her tongue to move, the dread overpowered her body down to the soles of her feet.

He was already planning out a strategy. Two. Four. Seven steps ahead. Cullen had walked around her toward the stairs, ready to descend into the abyss. Ready to take the leap for his duty. Ready to leave her behind without hearing her reply. She could not let this happen. The fear of him endangering his life in the face of a nightmare was stronger than the influence it had over her.

In a second before anyone could comprehend it, Cullen nearly tripped over himself as Asher snatched his arm in her grip. He stumbled forward to keep his balance.

“It’s not them!” Hysteria set in her voice, “It’s not the Darkspawn!”

The unexpected level of stress reeled him to return to her. Wide-eyed and befuddled, Cullen attempted to calm her worry as he grabbed hold of her elbow. The firm grasp was supposed to stabilize her but Asher just spiraled further into madness as she shook in his arms.

“It’s alright.” Cullen leaned closer. “There are Templars at the entrance. They would have sent the alarm by now if we are being overrun.”

“Listen to me! It’s not Darkspawn!” Asher nudged away from his hand in futile. She tried to take a few steps backwards, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ve heard that sound in the past.”

She sensed the goosebumps form at the back of her neck.

“I know that cry all too well,” Her voice trembled, “It stands opposite to hope. A misery so strong that it crushes your will to live.”

Cullen tensed.

“Hollow anguish that torments your soul.”

Worse than Darkspawn at their door.

“Despair.”

The word felt surreal as he spoke, rage simmering to the surface. He released her. “ _Demon_?”

Without saying more, the dread in her eyes confirmed his horror.

Asher glanced down the empty hallway. Her heart raced a thousand beats. It should not have been possible. Demons within the Circle, the thought was ridiculous to even consider. She reached over her shoulder to clutch at the wood of her staff. Its smooth surface felt comforting to the touch, pulse racing against the magic boiling at the brim. The prolonged quiet atmosphere was haunting. She turned to look at Cullen, his face drained of any color as he stared ahead.

“Ser Greagoir is upstairs.” Asher spoke barely audible, “So is the First Enchanter. You need to go report this.”

Cullen’s attention snapped in her direction. The anger directed toward her. “What are you trying to suggest...?”

Asher straightened her back, drawing her staff around to her side. “Most of the apprentices are confined to the first floor. They need someone to protect them.”

“You mean… you want me to just leave you to this… _thing_? While I go and do what? _Submit a report_?” He struggled to contain his fury. “You think I’m just going to let you run headfirst into whatever hell is down there?”

“Cullen, they’re afraid. If it’s an abomination lurking about, seeing a Templar swoop down on them can instill more panic.” Asher took another step into the hall. “They’re not seasoned mages who understand their own abilities yet. Most have never even seen a demon, much less know how to distinguish one.”

“But we’re here to help them… to assist.”

Her voice quivered, the realization sinking in. “That’s not how they’re going to interpret it. It’s too shocking for them. They’re too… raw.”

“If they haven’t done anything wrong, then there’s nothing for them to hide.” Cullen retorted as he followed forward.

Asher’s hand flew up, palm open to his chest. “It’s not that simple.”

He stepped closer, forcing her hand to rest firm against his armor. “It _is_ that simple.”

“Some of these apprentices are still children.” She whispered, “They do not trust that the Templars will be just. They're afraid that they will be falsely accused of corruption."

His brow furrowed, continuing his press as Asher shuffled back in response. Her wrist ached despite her best effort to keep him at bay. She knew of only one other way to possibly subdue the irritation that flared in his eyes. The magic word. The sole phrase he yearned to hear fall from her lips. The one thing she was too scared to give him.

"Please..." Asher breathed out as distress left her in shambles. "Don't make me choose between my love for you and my duty for the Circle."

Cullen came to a halt, much to her relief. The words were being processed in his mind as Cullen stalled before her, mouth agape in disbelief. She decided to take advantage of his pause.

“I merely want to find them. We’ll locate the other Templars on the floor and turn ourselves in. We’ll comply… but they first need someone to lead by example.” Asher pressed to his chest, leading him back for the stairs. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt on false pretenses but I also cannot have you risk yourself at the crossfires.”

She paused, new possibilities forming in her mind.

"If I lose you..."

She could not finish the sentence. She could not fathom the idea of him perishing in the process, losing him forever just as she lost Wynne. Asher did not trust herself to survive another loss. Her heart would split. Asher broke.

“Promise me then,” His sudden proclamation caused her to jerk. Cullen placed his palm over her hand as if to secure her sanity. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

She felt dizzy. Her legs threatened to give out as she sought to squirm out of his hold. Cullen pulled in to keep her still. Grounded. Before she could avert her eyes from him, he caught her once more.

“Asher. Don’t you dare turn away from me.” The control in his voice penetrated through her entire defense. “I want you to look me in the eye and say that you will return to me.”

Asher could not force the flush from creeping up her neck. She parted her lips to gasp for air as a lump formed at the base of her throat in anticipation. His demand was an ultimatum.

Cullen's stare cut short. She did not register what had occurred as he jerked her to his side. Stumbling forward, she spotted his free hand reach for his sword from the corner of her eye. Terror slapped her across the face.

The high pitch ring of the blade colliding against stone heightened her senses. Asher thrust her staff before her to regain some balance. A shriek bellowed right next to her ear. Jarring teeth snapped at a hair-thin distance as she jumped back in the nick of time to avoid an oncoming death. Her arm swung around to strike her staff at one of the extended claws. Her discipline kicked in as rage took command.

Asher stomped at the creature, impaling her staff into the ground. Fire erupted underneath her feet to spread in every direction. The blaze caught at its robe as it ignited the fabric and elicited another howl. Just as the demon was about to muster enough strength to lunge again, a sword pierced cleanly through its chest. Asher nearly fell to the floor from his sudden assault.

“That was Fear!” Cullen roared as the demon collapsed to the ground, disappearing into a cloud of black smoke. “Someone is performing a summoning!”

The delirium in his eyes made her stomach flip. Asher tightened her grip on her staff. There was no room left to argue with him. If she could not convince him to stay clear of the first floor, she had to get there before he did. It was time to take action. Now.

Willing her legs to move, Asher broke into a mad sprint for the stairs. In an instant, her vision blurred as a something blunt hit her gut. Her breath abruptly left her lungs, barely avoiding the wall that she nearly smacked into. Cullen’s forearm blocked her as he yanked her into his tight embrace.

His anger exploded. “ _Are you out of your damn mind_?!”

She struggled against his arm, avoiding the blade of his sword from nipping her skin. Her patience was shot. Asher could not contain the fury in her scream. “I will not abandon those apprentices to save my own arse! I will not allow them to be sacrificed while I breathe! Do your fucking job and report this already!”

The pain in his expression gave her the opportunity to break free. She couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. The guilt of those words ate away at her soul. Her heart crumbled from the thought of his anguish. Asher propelled onward.

“Asher!”

She stopped abruptly at the first step, hovering over the concrete. Her heart clamored as it deafened all reason. The air was suffocating.

“I won’t…”

The throbbing pain of her migraine numbed her senses. Everything was spinning around as her vision clouded from the overwhelming stress. She felt nauseous and faint.

“I won’t forgive you.” His words were cold with intent.

Asher stiffened, too frightened to hear the following.

“I won’t forgive you if you don’t return to me.”

She bit her shaking lip. No amount of logic could force her to speak up. Not when another weep threatened to burst. His safety was the only thing that kept her sane. If she permitted him to have his way, he would wind up placing himself in danger. Cullen's Templar training may have allowed him to face abominations but that did not mean she was ready to see him risk his life for the sake of this justice.

Giving him a firm nod, Asher rushed through the entryway. The steps distorted from the tears that managed to spill out. She would not let him see her cry. Not again. Not for a second time. She could not afford the luxury to bawl in front of him; to take advantage of his kindness and grieve in his arms when there were others holding death down their door. This was not the time to be selfish, no matter how much she craved his comfort. No matter how much she yearned for his touch. Or his affection. His warmth that ignited something stirringly powerful from within. The feelings she treasured dearly that Asher was willingly prepared to take to her grave.

She was in love. It was as simple as that.

Love - the one possibility she never imagined. It was a joy that blurred her judgement, causing her to dream of a future she could never hope to envision. The flicker of hope she felt sent her to new heights as she begged the Maker to end her illusion in fear of the steep fall. She begged despair to take her. Anything than to admit that she could not live without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was THIS close to keeping over 1,000 words of a make-out session! Holy carp... this is painful.
> 
> Come say hi :) https://talinlove.tumblr.com/


	7. The Maker Who Ignored His Followers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher meets an unlikely ally.

9:30 Dragon

* * *

 

The atmosphere felt colder as Asher descended further down the stairs. It was just like her Harrowing, despair worming its way into the walls. Asher jumped the last few steps to turn at the corridor. She instantly regretted doing so as the chink of her shoes alarmed the Shade who slithered from within the crack of the floor. The grey cloud solidified into dragging feet. Raising its arm over its head, the demon lunged to strike a blow. 

This time Asher was prepared. Side stepping from the slash of its clawed hand, her thoughts detonated. Lightning cracked between their bodies and burst in a flash. Bouncing off the surface of the floor, it struck elegantly in a curve to hurdle the demon across the hall. A hiss emanated as it disappeared into shadow once more. Without pausing to think for another second, Asher continued. Her thoughts began to fall in line, synchronizing with everything her eyes registered.

There were no signs of a summoning present. Aside from the chill that shook one to the core, the only things out of place were the demons that prowled over deceased bodies. Asher kept to a brisk walk. There had to be survivors. The assault was unexpected but it would take quite a number of mages to plan something at such scale. Someone had to have noticed.

She passed one of the common rooms when Asher picked up on a faint sob. Her shoulders perked, turning to peek inside as she scanned the area for abominations. Sitting tightly in the corner near a bookshelf was a young boy who hid his face into his knees. Asher crouched down to his eye level as she glided across the room.

“Sweetheart.”

The boy jumped in his spot. He glanced up; his face flushed red and soaked from tears.

She smiled gently. “What’s your name?”

“L-Landon.” His voice quivered as he shook.

Asher held out a hand, palm facing up to the ceiling. “My name is Asher. I am one of the mages who help Enchanter Wynne. Do you want to come with me?"

He nodded his head. Landon reached out to catch her hand, his fingers brushing gently against her reach.

His freezing touch sent Asher into a shock as she attempted to back away. Before she knew how to respond, Landon had already latched onto her arm, squeezing so hard that she gasped in pain. His teary baby blue eyes turned dark as a crooked smile spread from cheek to cheek. Landon lunged forward, his nails ripping into the skin of her forearm. His grin opened wide as the tendons at his mouth ripped apart revealing a set of pointed teeth that drooled in her face.

Flight instinct registered finally, prompting Asher to send a sharp kick in the child's gut. The figure crashed against the adjacent wall, his bones cracking at the impact as his head collided with the surface. Asher scrambled to her feet, watching the child morph its body into the image of a demon. The tan skin burst at the seams, displaying fleshy appendages that climbed out in every direction. The demon opened its mouth to release an ear-shattering howl.

Asher gripped her staff. With one swift gesture, she released a fireball that flew across the room, igniting the demon's flesh. The shrill hurt her ears as Asher grasped at her head to try to block out the sound. It was nauseating. Watching demons fall was difficult enough but seeing possession distort a human body, much less a child's, was gruesome. Asher struggled to keep her composure.

Straightening herself once more, Asher turned back to face the hallway. Her knees shook as she took a step forward. She had heard of what mages were capable of when dipping into blood magic and summonings but nothing could prepare her for the real world. Someone among them had made the decision to unleash demons to prey on innocent people. Someone had the madness to distort the peace within their Tower walls to let loose the corruption. Someone was willing to throw their own kind into hell.

Asher wobbled into the corridor. Her sight came in contact with another mage across the room. The young woman clutched to the wall, fear brazen in her eyes. She knew of this person. Asher had seen her countless times at the library. This mage had joined the Circle before Asher and passed her Harrowing years prior. They never spoke but Asher had learned enough about her superiors to recognize Enchanter Eleanor, an apprentice-specialist in primal magic.

Before Asher could muster the courage to call out to her, Eleanor had reached for her staff. Asher dropped to the ground, nearly avoiding the wall of rock that was cast her way. She rushed to locate her own staff, anger flaring in her voice. “Enchanter! What in the world are you doing?!”

“Stay back, vile creature!” Eleanor bellowed, madness present in her words, “I won’t allow you to take me as you took the others!”

She sent another wave of rocks. Asher jumped from her spot, tumbling harshly on her knees. Her mind focused on the lightning that sparked all around them, forming a barrier between the two women. Asher raised a column of fire in front of her as a means to guard against more spells. “Enchanter,  _please_! I don’t wish to fight you!”

“Don’t you dare try to fool me with your evil ways!” Eleanor sent a bigger rock that crashed into the wall near Asher’s head.

“Enchanter!” Asher dodged the impact. “I’m not a demon! I want to help you!”

“Lies! I saw you with him! You and his scheming minions… you’re all trying to destroy the Circle!”

Just as Eleanor was preparing her spell, a swift arrow flew from down the hall before lodging in her skull. Eleanor froze, her magic disappearing abruptly, as she collapsed to the floor in a harsh smack. Asher watched in bewilderment as the pool of blood spread at Eleanor’s head, soaking into the stone. Fear crept on silent tiptoes. She could not contain the cry that erupted from deep within her chest, stumbling to the wall as she held her mouth from vomiting. Her eyes shakily traced back to the origin of the assailant where she noticed an elven archer standing at the stairwell. His arm extended to the sack that held his arrows as he watched her with piercing intent.

“You killed her.” Asher breathed out the statement, afraid of her own words.

“She was going to kill you if I didn’t.” The man spoke up.

Another man stepped aside from behind the archer as he ascended the steps. His sword was drawn to his side, holding the shield with a Redcliffe insignia before him in the other. The gentle worry of his eyes contrasted against his warrior stance. He walked closer, circling around the perimeter, as the first man pulled out his arrow. Asher stiffened.

“I wouldn’t do anything drastic, if I were you.” A voice announced itself from behind. Asher twisted her head slowly to meet a second archer from across the hallway. This one was a woman with short, red hair that flashed in the dim candlelight. She held her arrow taunt against the bow, ready to release a deathly blow. The smoke from her shadow bomb was beginning to dissipate into thin air. Asher could not fathom as to when these strangers had managed to corner her.

“What do we have here?” Another woman stepped into the corridor from the stairs. She held a staff in her hand yet her clothing did not resemble any of the Circle garb. There was an aura of dangerous demure that threatened to strike like a snake if provoked. “A mage who decided to tempt the demons once more?”

Asher wiped away the tears that had begun forming earlier. She rose up on unstable legs, clinging to the stone surface. “N-no… I was coming down to help the apprentices. I don’t know who is performing the summoning to attract these demons.”

She decided to test her fate. Asher placed her staff at her back and raised both palms to them. If she was going to be slaughtered by these intruders, outnumbered four to one, let her at least have a chance to reason with them to find an amicable solution rather than blindly attack as Eleanor had. Asher scanned the room, weighing out all of the possibilities she had available to her.

The elven archer lowered his weapon first. His prominent, angled features softened as he released a deep sigh. “Look, I don’t know anything about this mage-demon ordeal going on here… we’re here on Warden business.”

“Warden…” Asher glanced his way. “Are you the Grey Wardens that were at Ostagar? Were there any survivors?”

“Well, that’s not a common response.” The warrior who had now stood a few paces from her side at the center of the hallway answered, “Usually people scream bloody murder and then either proceed to attack us or run away… sometimes both.”

“That would be the typical reaction after seeing your face, I imagine.” The mage retorted with a smug. The man shot a dirty glance her way, his chest heaving to prepare a reply.

“I’m not really in a position to do either.” Asher spoke up, silencing their chance to continue bickering. “Besides, I do not know what happened in Ostagar. I didn’t see it with my own eyes. Therefore I have no reason to judge anyone considering you just saved me; albeit without attempting to reason with the Enchanter before striking her down. I merely want to know if anyone else survived.”

By now, both the warrior and the second archer lowered their weapons. Good. It appeared they were willing to try diplomacy after all.

“Did you have anyone important in Ostagar then?” The red haired woman asked.

Asher turned her attention from the other three to look her way. “I did. My mentor was sent there when the Darkspawn attacked. I don’t know if she managed to escape the horde. She was Enchanter Wynne.”

“Wynne? You mean the old healer mage lady?” The warrior interrupted. His face had blossomed into an unexpected smile. “I talked to her a couple times when she first came to Ostagar. Duncan had spoke highly of her… oh, I see!”

Taking two wide steps, the man closed the gap between them as Asher shrunk against the wall. His teammates also seemed to tense at his sudden action.

“You’re that student of hers she mentioned all the time! She wanted your First Enchanter to sign some sort of paperwork so you’d be released to Ostagar.” His grin was contagious as Asher relaxed a little. “What was the name? Aker? Aller?”

“It’s Asher.” She replied firmly.

“Right! Right! That’s the name!” He snapped his fingers, turning on his heels to face the elven archer. “This must be Wynne’s apprentice. Remember? She mentioned her right before your trip to the Korcari Wilds to retrieve the… stuff.”

“Another one of that preachy schoolteacher’s puppets?” The mage scowled. “Better to send her downstairs than listen to any more of this Circle nonsense.”

Asher perked up. “Is Wynne here then? Is she alive?”

The warrior faced her once more. “She is! Wynne is on the first floor with the other children. She gathered a large group and cast a barrier to keep the demons from breaking through to them. But that Knight-Commander is not too keen on helping the Tower.”

"Knight-Commander Greagoir is downstairs as well?” She held back a gasp as the severity of the situation began to manifest. “He doesn’t think we can drive out the abominations?”

“I’m afraid not.” The elven archer replied. “Your Knight-Commander is under the impression that the Tower is doomed beyond all hope. He is willing to make the call to purge the place if we don’t clear out the demons before his reinforcements arrive. We requested a temporary halt with the Grey Wardens treaties to try to make sense of all of this. If we don’t return soon with good news, he’ll order the Right of Annulment.”

Asher froze, her mind scattering as she analyzed each possibility.

“It would be best for you to join the others.” The red haired woman stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If we are unable to stop this, you should at least be with the people you love during those final moments.”

Her stomach dropped to her feet. Panic filled her heart. Asher spun around to face her. “Please allow me to join you. Let me help. It’s better to have another mage assist the cause than sit here and await for my fate to be decided for me.”

“This one is rather unusual.” The woman at the stairs walked forward. “It seems she might actually possess a functioning brain.”

“Morrigan…” The elven archer replied with a cautious tone. “Don’t be so cruel. She’s only a child.”

“No child is capable of rational thought in the face of danger.” Morrigan smirked, “This one is willing to risk her life against all odds. I can see the cogs turn in her mind; there’s someone else besides the schoolteacher that she holds dear.”

Asher frowned. The scrutiny of this woman was vile. “You’re right. I do have someone else I care for. I know this Tower better than any of you and I’m willing to share my knowledge with complete outsiders to reach the same result. I do not see how my personal reason should be relevant when you’re offered such generous assistance.”

“My, my… what feisty spirits you possess behind that studious demeanor you fabricate.” Morrigan let out a short laugh. She looked to the man at her side. “If I were you, I’d take up her offer. She may be a Circle mage but this one has intentions beyond her duties. Her will to survive is stronger than her submission to the Order.”

The elf nodded. Turning to Asher, he walked forward to extend an arm in her direction. “Very well. My name is Holland. I am one of the last surviving Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We are mounting an army against the Darkspawn and we came to the Circle to invoke the treaties that will allow mages to join our case to defend Thedas.”

Asher reached out, her fingers trembling as she took his hand. “My name is Asher Amell. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Holland let out a small smile. The vallaslin curved at his cheeks. “It is becoming a rather pleasurable pattern to see your people behave so amicably. The Dalish are not as kind to reply in such a manner from experience.”

He turned toward the warrior who fidgeted in his spot before deciding to speak up. “Oh! Right! My name is Alistair. I’m a Grey Warden as well. That’s Morrigan, the grumpy one.”

Asher held back a grin from escaping as she bit her lip.

“This is Leliana.” Holland pointed to the other woman. “She is a Lay Sister of the Chantry.”

“Formerly.” Leliana interrupted. “The Maker has guided me to a separate cause for the time being.”

Asher lowered her eyes. A Chantry sister was the last thing she expected to see in the Circle, especially after the incident with Jowan and Lily. She could sense the uneasy attention that was drawn from Leliana in her stare.

“You do not believe in the Maker?” Her voice was gentle despite the seriousness of her statement.

Asher sucked in a breath, careful with her response. “Whether I do or do not isn’t as important at the moment as it is saving this Tower. I apologize if I appeared hostile in any way, Sister.”

“Former Sister.”

“My mistake. I am sorry.” Asher retreated.

“There is nothing to apologize for.” Leliana squeezed her hand at her shoulder. “You are correct. It is best that we focus on the present matter.”

How would she believe in the Maker? The Circle may preach the word but even Asher could not help but wonder whether this god was just in his treatment of mages. How could He judge something that no person had the ability to control? She did not ask this Maker to be born a mage and yet He punishes those who possess magic by locking them away from the rest of the world. Enchanter Uldred’s criticism of the Chantry held some logic after all. This collective mind was under the influence of age-old scripture tales that no one could confirm. Whether Andraste or the Maker existed did not seem relevant to Asher when it came to treating others with equal respect. And yet, the Chantry deemed it perfectly justifiable to use that faith against others who held different opinions. It was… irrational in her opinion.

Holland had walked over to Morrigan by now. They spoke quietly, planning the next strategy as Leliana gathered a few potions that lay on the floor in a nearby room. Alistair remained at Asher’s side, his stare intent on her as he awaited signal from the others. His jaw tightened as he tilted his head.

“You said your name was Amell? That doesn’t sound very Fereldeny-like.”

Asher shook her head lightly. “It’s not... Fereldeny-like… The Amells are from the Free Marches. My relatives live in Kirkwall.”

“But you were sent to this tower instead?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes.” Her hands cupped into a ball at her stomach. “I was assigned to Kinloch Hold. Knight-Commander Greagoir brought me here when I was very little.”

“How could they keep you so far away from your family?” Alistair sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I guess the Templars must have thought it was best to have you separated. That is unfair.”

Asher leaned away, keeping her eyes to the ground. “It may be so, but I am still free to my studies. The Templars here are not cruel and the First Enchanter looks after his mages. The bigger picture is that I am lucky to be assigned to such a liberal tower.”

“It’s a shame the Circle keeps such a beautiful woman confined in these walls.” His coy smile spread warmth in her heart. He leaned in, keeping just enough distance.

Asher looked to Alistair as she prepared to step forward. “I’m sure there are plenty of free, beautiful women in your world. Some of them even won’t threaten to set your breeches aflame on accident.”

Alistair stepped aside, catching her retreat as his grin grew wider. “I’d rather take my chances with a woman who possesses a wicked tongue than be bored to tears with the beauty of nobles. My breeches can be set aflame any time.”

“Will you quit harassing every girl you lay your eyes on?” Morrigan snapped at him. Alistair gave her a face in return.

“Let’s continue before either of you decide to kill each other.” Holland sighed, swinging his bow to his back. “Asher, if you don’t mind leading the way…”

“Not at all.” Asher gave Alistair a quick glance who remained focused on his silent showdown with Morrigan. She walked around them, taking the front as they began their ascend to the next floor. Leliana kept a close stride to her heels, eyes scanning everything around them with another smoke bomb ready at her side. She must have sneaked around Asher and Eleanor before they even made eye contact back then to place herself strategically when the moment arrived. This former Sister’s stealth was captivating yet too deadly for her curiosity.

The group passed each floor, stopping to rid more demons along the way. It was a heartbreaking sight to behold for Asher, seeing her home defiled so. The worst of it came when they encountered a Templar who lashed out at them on the demand of a Desire Demon that twisted his mind into believing he was defending his family. Just as earlier, this Grey Warden once again struck down a person, blood smeared across his face. The distance in his eyes kept his cool exterior together despite the kind words he spoke as he worried over Asher’s mental state. Leliana was just the same, keeping her focus on Asher between each fight while Alistair and Morrigan cleaned up any remaining horrors.

It was embarrassing to see these people behave so calmly when Asher could barely keep legs steady. She wished she could mimic their control. She wished the Circle had prepared her better to face so much death. Asher relied on her magic to disarm her opponents; never did she have to make the decision to end someone’s life when her own was at stake. She wondered if she even had the will to do so. Could she have overpowered Eleanor if reason failed? Could she take on the responsibility of placing judgment over another person?

It was a frightening thought.

As they left the second to last floor, all that stood between them now was whatever kept locked away in the Harrowing Chamber. Asher led them up the stairs, her will slowly breaking with each step. No matter how many rooms they checked in, she had yet to spot either Cullen or the First Enchanter. The despair that grew in her heart was quickly overpowering her rationale. Her worst fears came to life as soon as they stepped into the hallway she once took before arriving for her Harrowing weeks prior.

The faint glow of a barrier lit the darkened room. All of the candles had been extinguished. The energy emanated was too powerful for magic to penetrate. Asher knew what this was – a force opposite to her existence - the will of Templar’s vigilance.

In the middle of the barrier, kneeling on one leg with his hands clasped tightly at his forehead, Cullen chanted a prayer to the Maker who would never hear his pleas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no...
> 
> Come say hi :) https://talinlove.tumblr.com/


	8. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher attempts to reason with Cullen.
> 
> Warning. Explicit.

9:30 Dragon

* * *

 

"Violently they were cast down, for no mortal may walk bodily in the realm of dreams, bearing the mark of their Crime." Cullen recited the chant as he rocked back and forth in his spot. "Bodies so maimed and distorted that none should see them and know them for men. Deep into the earth they fled, away from the Light."

Holland stepped in front of the group, walking around Asher as he placed his palm to the barrier. "I've never seen this type of magic before. What is it?"

"In Darkness eternal they searched for those who had goaded them on, until at last they found their prize, their god, their betrayer. The sleeping dragon Dumat."

"That's because it's not magic." Alistair spoke up from behind Asher who walked up to her side. "This is the result of disciplined Templar training. It's a last resort they cast to ward any evil when the Templar is unable to physically fight."

"Their taint twisted even the false-god, and the whisperer awoke at last, in pain and horror, and led them to wreak havoc upon all the nations of the world. The first Blight."

Alistair lowered his voice to a mumble. "It becomes a cage for them, keeping everything on the outside from penetrating in."

Holland turned to look back to Asher who remained still, unable to look at the sight before her. He gently asked, "Do you know this Templar?"

She gave a curt nod.

Her heart jumped to her throat as her hand was taken into another's palm. Asher glanced down to notice Alistair keep his leathered glove to her wrist. The warmth of his presence radiated as she sensed a heat rise in her arm. She matched her heartbeat to his breath.

"Is this who you were looking for?"

Shame washed over. Asher pulled away instantly. "Yes. This is Templar Cullen Rutherford. He is a friend of mine."

"Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me. I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me. In the long hours of the night when hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your Light remains."

She took a weary step forward.

“He is reciting the Canticle of Trials?” Leliana questioned. “And earlier… I think that was a section of Threnodies?”

“It’s a habit.” Alistair replied slowly, “They teach Templar initiates to memorize verses from the Chant of Light to help them build focus.”

"I have heard the sound a song in the stillness, the echo of Your voice, calling creation to wake from its slumber. How can we know You? In the turning of the seasons, in life and death, in the empty space where our hearts hunger for a forgotten face?"

"Cullen." Her words felt hollow.

To her surprise, he halted in his reading, looking up to meet her strained eyes. The trained restraint in his expression cracked as horror splattered across his face. Cullen carefully rose, straightening his composure and backing further within his barrier. The dread in his voice gave him away. "Not you. Not again. How many times must we go through this?"

Asher stepped up to the barrier at Holland's side. "Cullen, it's alright. No one is going to hurt you anymore."

"I know what you are, a temptation hidden within her flesh." Cullen spat, "The others tried to seduce me with her. They conjured her over and over to break my resolve and I struck her down each time with my sword, piercing her heart, watching her bloodied body collapse as a demon rose from the ashes."

"I'm not a demon, Cullen. I cannot be one when I’m not possessed." Asher trembled as she imagined the scenes he described. What mage in their sane mind would make him relive that?

"That's what the others said. That's how it all begins. First she calls out to me, begging me to take her away from this tower, away from the corruption. Then she does the unspeakable. They convince her to play before my eyes, contour in the most sinful manner imaginable. They know what I want is beyond my reach and yet they tempt me."

"That... sounds like it would be a sight to behold." Alistair sneered slightly until Leliana smacked him upside the head. "Kidding. I can't help it of the mood is so sour."

Asher snapped her head in his direction with a stare that could kill as Alistair shrunk in his place. She then turned back to Holland, pointing to the door. "The Harrowing Chamber is just beyond those steps. Whoever is there will probably be the one responsible for this nightmare. The First Enchanter may be held hostage."

"Not a hostage." Cullen interrupted suddenly, "They took them. Chained them. And then brought them out, one by one, breaking their minds, twisting their souls. Uldred and his mages pressured them to become... monsters."

"Are you implying that the Enchanter Uldred is behind all of this? Is he turning people into abominations?" Asher barely let out a breath.

"He and his followers. They're the ones that killed them. I had to watch as they turned into those things, their will stolen, forever enslaved by his madness." Cullen bent back down, taking a seat on the floor next to the wall. His eyes remained at the ground. "We should have kept a tighter leash. We should have forced them to submit to the will of the Maker. Greagoir was too sympathetic, too benevolent for their cause."

"If he is correct, then Enchanter Uldred is probably accompanied by his apprentices." She kept her attention to the others. "If you stop them then this horror can finally come to an end. The actions of a select few should not represent the whole. I beg you to save the First Enchanter if given the opportunity. He is incorruptible."

"You're not coming with us?" Holland raised an eyebrow.

"Look at him," Asher nudged to Cullen, "I cannot leave him behind... not like this. He needs someone right now to help him see reason. If left alone, he might do something that could not only bring harm to him but to others as well. Besides..."

She paused as the the flush worked its way up her neck.

"I made a promise."

"His hatred for mages has grown immensely after seeing his comrades fall to their corruption." Alistair interjected before she could continue. "If you remain here, he might turn on you. And we won’t be close enough to protect you from his wrath."

Asher glanced his way. "I made up my mind long before we arrived here. I made a promise to return to him. I will not abandon Cullen in his time of need."

Holland nodded in response. "I understand. We will take care of this Uldred and secure the Tower. Please stay safe until then. We’ll come retrieve you after all is done."

Without another rebuttal, the rest of the group followed in suit as they took after Holland up the stairs. Alistair paused at the first step, looking back to Asher who kept a still watch. He shook his head lightly, unable to muster another word, as he continued his ascent. She turned her focus to Cullen who now held his head in his hands. The doors creaked loudly seeing Holland, Morrigan, Leliana, and Alistair off to the last floor before shutting behind.

Asher knelt to her knees, making herself comfortable on the stone ground as she continued to observe Cullen from afar. His spirit was fractured as the man who sat in front of her now was no longer the same person she saw hours prior. The abuse he had survived left him on the brink of insanity. His body may have been left untouched but his mind split in two. This was nothing compared to what she imagined while on her way up the tower. Maybe a scuffle with a demon here or there, the occasional dispute with a mage who tried to contain their anger for fear of accusation, or the culprit who was subdued by teamwork of both Mages and Templars.

Asher pulled in her knees into her arms, hugging herself tightly as she held back the sorrow in her thoughts. Not this. Not this defeated husk of a man that once stood proudly before his assignments, absorbing everything his superiors requested of him.

"I'm sorry." She let out a gentle whisper. "Please forgive me. I should not have left you alone back then."

Cullen peeked up from his spot. The anguish in his voice broke her. "I want to strangle you.”

Asher stiffened.

“If I could, I would wrap my hands around your neck right now and clench so tight that it'd force your demons to come out. And just when you thought you could get away, I'd slash you in half to free her from your possession."

"Cullen..." Asher could feel her throat dry. "You don't mean that. Please open your eyes. I'm the same Asher that you love."

"That's new." He scoffed, "Just how far must you delve into my mind to drag that one out, you sick creature? Do you enjoy seeing me grovel at her feet? Do you want me to beg for her love when I understand perfectly well that she would never return those feelings for me? Her - a mage... of all people?"

"You know that is not true. I do love you, regardless of whether I'm a Mage or you a Templar." The agony in her own words pierced her control. "I don't care what we are. None of it matters as long as you're safe."

"Maker, why must you test me with this cruelty?" Cullen grasped at his hair. "Do I not have the strength left in me to banish this nightmare? Have you abandoned me for my weakness for her? My sin that I commit each night in the face of the Order?"

Asher fought through the tears. "You're the one who told me there is no shame in my compassion. Why won't you allow me in? Why won’t you let me help you?"

His gaze turned chilling in an instant. "You know exactly what will happen if I let you come inside. I'd rather die first than permit you access to my soul. Not that it would matter to you if I were left dead or alive - one less Templar standing in your way after all."

Lowering her head to the floor, Asher bent forward to hide the tears that she could no longer keep from overflowing. "I would never do anything to hurt you, Cullen. I promise... I'll never leave you in harm's way again. I promise..."

"For fuck's sake!" He hissed under his nose, "This one is persistent!"

Asher remained silent, feeling the cool ground against the pulsating pain in her forehead. Her hands clenched at her chest as she attempted to slow her frantic heartbeat. Was it too late? Was she too late to save him? Possibilities of various outcomes raced across her mind.

"You want to know what would happen if I let you through that badly?" Asher halted her thought. His voice was poisonous to her ears. "You really can't imagine it on your own?"

Her shoulders tensed, shivering from the fear of his words.

"I'd start with your lips to silence that vile tongue. My hand would squeeze your throat as I pushed you against this wall. No matter how much you struggled to be released, I would steal your kisses just for the thrill of it until you're left undone in my touch. I would command you to strip and you would comply, completely compliant to my demands."

Asher lifted her head, the mixture of horror, disbelief, and intrigue clouded her eyes. He caught notice of the perversion in her reaction.

"You look heinous with that expression of yours." Cullen flared his disdain. "I always wondered how you would respond to those fantasies. It is disgusting to see that much hunger in your face. The real Asher would never even consider someone like me to please her needs. She would never give herself to my whim, trusting me to see her to satisfaction."

She opened her mouth to speak only to be cut off once again.

"What now? You're going to tell me how the real Asher pines for my affection? It is too bad that I hold no kindness for you if you believe I would gently caress you into submission." Cullen chuckled under his breath. "No, our dance would be savage.”

A flush of pink crept across her skin.

“I'd drive you into the floor, ripping off those robes, and hold you down to coerce an orgasm with just my fingers.”

“Why are you doing this?” Her fists tightened against the cold surface floor.

“How you would cry, beg me to stop as your body urged me otherwise."

"Please don't say any more." Asher gasped. The embarrassment seeped into her core. "You're not in the right state of mind at the moment. You don't realize what you're saying."

"Just as you are doing it now, your pleading won't keep me from fucking you senseless." He let loose a low growl that caused her to jerk.

Asher scrambled backwards. Her heart hammered in her veins as her spine hit the opposing wall. He in turn began his advance forward, leaning toward the edge of his barrier, crouching like a lion ready to pounce at his caught prey.

"Until you cannot string together two thoughts."

Her voice did not seem audible as she spoke. "Stop it..."

"Until your tight cunt loses that battle, spilling all over my prick."

"Cullen," She let out a sob, "I'm scared..."

"Until that demon of yours finally bursts out."

The roughness in his voice began to muffle in his heaving.

"Then I'd draw my sword to your throat."

"Don't say it...  _please_!" She held her hands at her ears.

"Slowly as I continued thrusting in you."

"Cullen-!"

"Bringing it down to slice through your flesh as you bled to death under me."

Asher could not restrain the following. Her scream erupted against her throat causing him to suddenly twitch. Cullen sat across the room, blinking in shock at the sight, confused for her unexpected response. Asher cowered against the stone wall, sealing her eyes shut to fight through the tears that rolled without an end. It was too much ponder on. Too brutal to continue imagining.

She had been wrong. His mind was twisted beyond repair and she just burned herself at the fury that consumed his heart. Her thoughts spiraled further as she condemned herself for assuming their devotion for one another would heal this wound. There was no love left in him, only the distorted vision of her possessed image that he would not let go.

Her name that escaped his lips did not register in her consciousness. Asher curled further into a ball, smashing her head against the hard surface. Her heartache was overpowering the pain that formed at her skull as she wept into the floor. Everything around her began to spin. The darkness filled her whole within. She was too late. He was lost to her.

* * *

The glow of nearby candles gently cuddled her cheeks as Asher slowly fluttered open her eyes to the sensation. She spotted a few mages running about, carrying towels soaked in water to patients that sat at medical cots. Her gaze wandered about to notice the Knight-Commander chatting with Holland. The First Enchanter stood at his side, waving his arms in a heated discussion. She attempted to say something, anything really, to let the First Enchanter know how glad she was to see him alive and well. Yet no sound could fall from her mouth except for the ache that scratched at her throat. Her head felt light suddenly, nearly falling back against the wall before something soft caught the nape of her neck, prompting her to sit up straight. Asher tried to look about through heavy lidded eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey... don't move around so much." Alistair's voice resonated in her thoughts. "Wynne said you need as much rest as possible."

"What - what happened?" She let out a hoarse croak noticing the lack of sound in her voice.

Alistair moved his hand into her hair, gently massaging the dull throb that began manifesting itself as she regained her senses. "She speculates that it's some kind of trauma. We found you passed out on the floor after Uldred and his followers were taken care of. We... I... carried you back here. He didn't say anything, that Templar of yours, not that I would expect him to considering he's been shut in his corner since we came to the lower floor."

"Oh... I see... At least they’re safe now."

The growing concern in his eyes made her feel uneasy in the pit of her stomach. "Do you not remember what happened after we left you with him?"

Asher swallowed hard. Fear threatened to break her wall once more. Unwilling to return to those memories, Asher locked away the thoughts that tried to plague her sanity. Better to lie to herself and everyone else around her than reveal the hideous truth to resurface the pain. Her mind could not handle the loss a second time.

"No." She whispered, "I don't remember anything."

Alistair gave a frown. The crease in his forehead began to form from years of scowling. “You’re not a very good liar.”

The phrase was so similar yet different all the same. Asher’s eyes widened, reminiscing of a time when everything was still at peace.

_You’re not very convincing at the moment._

“I’m also awful at changing subjects.” She smiled to herself.

His occupied stare did not go unnoticed. Every movement she made was under his scrutiny as he examined how Asher recovered. She leaned away from his hand, balancing her vertigo against the wall as she rose to her feet. Alistair nearly jumped to her side, holding out both his arms at her side to catch her in case her legs failed. Asher placed a palm at his forearm to steady her sway. She looked up to him beneath the strands of hair that blurred her vision.

“It seems I still need time to return to my normal self.” Asher gave a shy smirk. “Sorry to use you like this.”

She decided to test her strength, stepping away from his embrace, to see how much stability she lacked. Her movements were heavy and sluggish as she focused on moving one leg before the other.

“Don’t push yourself so much.” Alistair’s voice vibrated in a low hum. “You need to allow your body rest.”

Asher shook her head carefully. “The Circle will need all the help it can get to restore order. I can’t be weak now, not when my superiors will expect my assistance.”

His expression eased, surrendering a weighty sigh. “There is no end to your stubbornness, is there?”

For the first time in a long time, she grinned wide from cheek to cheek. She could not explain why she felt such happiness but the emotion spread thick to thaw the chill that had kept its clutch at her soul for so long. He flinched at the sight.

“Never.”

Asher turned to look at Holland who had started to signal to his companions. Leliana was the first to respond, gathering her bow as she slung it across her shoulder. Morrigan moved not too far behind, keeping her attention from the alerted Templars who leered her way.

“I guess it’s time for Orzammar now.” Alistair spoke up from her side.

Asher looked in his direction, questions forming at each passing second. “You’re going to recruit the dwarves next?”

Without glancing her way, Alistair continued to explain. “Can’t exactly fight an army of Darkspawn that threaten Ferelden without Ferelden itself having our back. With the Circle mages secured, Holland wants to persuade the dwarven kingdom before heading back home to ask the Dalish for their loyalty. He says they should be our last stop since they’ll be the hardest to convince to join the cause.”

“It seems you still have quite a journey to complete.” She took an unsteady step. “I’m quite jealous, actually. You get to explore Ferelden… under the pretense of war of course… but it’s freedom nonetheless.”

She paused, meticulously choosing her next words.

“I hope you succeed in your travels. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be much left when you return home.”

“Would you wait until then?”

The question sent Asher into a frenzy of confusion. The migraine that knocked against her temples muddled everything. “What?”

Alistair remained at the wall as he kept his stare unwavering on her stature. “When it’s all over, when the Darkspawn and the Archdemon are slain, I’ll come back. Would you wait until then?”

Asher smirked slightly, trying to cut the tension. It was almost ironic how familiar those words appeared. “Is this more of your beautiful women locked away in a tall tower scenarios? This isn’t exactly a fairytale where you can swoop in to take away the princess like a knight in shining armor, returning from war.”

He remained silent.

“Besides,” She looked to the high ceiling above them. “My duty is to this place. I have dedicated my entire life to the Circle. You can’t exactly come in and demand that I leave without the Templars skinning you alive.”

Closing her eyes, Asher inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of burning candles and the soil that masked the lower floors from the nearby lake.

“It’s comforting now. I cannot imagine a life outside of these walls anymore.”

“Try.” His voice came dangerously close at her ear.

Asher froze.

“Picture your life beyond the Circle, wherever you wish to go without anything standing in your way. Before your duty to this place, or the Order, or any other organization that you hopelessly cling to... your duty to yourself trumps above everything else.”

She sensed him walk around, afraid to open her eyes to him.

“When you give yourself permission to dream the seemingly impossible, your possibilities multiply infinitely. So keep dreaming of as many things you want to experience until I come back to get you.”

As his last words echoed in her mind, the muted bustle of everything around her deafened all thought. She remained standing there, taking in every sound her ears picked on, focusing on the smallest of details, unsure of how much time ticked by. When she finally mustered the courage to see the world, Asher found herself surrounded by loneliness once more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard to write...
> 
> Come say hi :) https://talinlove.tumblr.com/


	9. The Line Between Templar and Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen suppresses his memories.

9:31 Dragon

* * *

 

He swore the shadows moved when he wasn't looking. Cullen stalked the hallways quietly each night during his newly assigned patrol. Criticizing Greagoir landed him this new job. Despite the countless warnings that he shared with his superiors, they all sneered at him behind craftily concealed expressions, ridiculing his earlier breakdown. He knew it. They didn't have to say a word for Cullen knew everything they whispered behind closed doors.

Nowadays, he kept to himself primarily, avoiding Templars and Mages alike. The new recruits did not take their chances with him, dodging him at every corner. And the mages... well, they continued their usual plight out of his earshot. The prospect of abominations hiding among them was sickening and the fact that no one was taking him seriously for the matter was deplorable. There was still a possibility, regardless how small, that the corruption was present within their Tower walls. Greagoir should not have called off the Annulment. The Grey Warden must have tempered with the evidence, choosing to take sides with the mages in order to gain their loyalty for the Blight. He ruined it all, any hope of completely cleansing the Circle of sin.

And yet, guilt plagued his mind at the thought.

Cullen knew the full extent of that choice. If the Right of Annulment was not revoked, Asher would have perished in the process. Whether she was possessed or not was irrelevant to restore peace to the Tower. And the most frightening thought of all was how agreeable he would have been to follow that order. It was just as she said earlier, when the time demanded it, his compliancy to the Templars was stronger than his devotion for her. His mind demanded loyalty while his heart continued to tear apart. As the days progressed into weeks, the pain in his chest grew numb. He condemned himself for allowing these feelings to bloom to such an extent. He should have known better. He should have trusted his faith more than his ill-natured desire to take her as his.

Thankfully, the broken state of the Tower kept them away from each other's company. While Cullen focused on physically rebuilding the various rooms upstairs alongside the new recruits that were hired at their mass shortage, Asher was tending to the young apprentices alongside Wynne on the first floor. Occasionally, their paths would cross. Whether it was in the dinning hall or the stairwell, Asher kept to her tasks without giving him a second of her attention. He noticed how she shirked away at his presence, clinging to the opposite wall to avoid accidentally brushing her arm against his. She never looked his way. Her eyes were always somewhere else, focused on something besides him. He cursed his weakness as he realized just how much he craved to see her smile. The tender warmth that she radiated was long since gone having been replaced with a bitter wall that kept everyone at a distance. She did not speak much anymore. On a number of instances he listened to the complaints from the recruits over the "bitch witch" as they called her. She addressed them stern, curt, and with a hint of irritation. There was no emotion to her voice. It was as if all of her compassion had been crushed under the fallen debris that pilled each day.

He certainly wasn't any better either. The nightmares magnified after Uldred's betrayal. He saw visions of the fallen Templars as they begged the demons to end their suffering. He remembered the agony of the abuse they endured, praying to the Maker to grant mercy as their words fell on deaf ears. The worst of it was seeing the torture those mages had conjured to try to break his mind. They first called his sister, Mia, as the demon took shape of her flesh. She cried mad tears for him to return home. This test was the easiest, knowing full well that Mia would never go against his wish when she had been the first person to support him. Then they called his parents as they showed their disapproval in choosing the Order over family. Another trick he had seen through as he dismissed the impostors. It wasn't until they called Asher that he finally waned. They saw through his defenses to take advantage of his flaw - his one mistake that he regrettably cherished became his downfall.

Their Asher was gentle initially. She held his hand, blushing as she hid her embarrassment beneath her fallen hair. She professed her love for him, biting down on her lower lip to entice a strained gasp. Just as she was about to lean into him, Cullen regained his senses to cast her aside. Falling to the ground, the demon revealed itself for a brief second, allowing his conscience to rid its existence without any guilt.

The second Asher was more brazen in her approach. She began by drawing him to her, fingers running through his scalp to distract as she stole his kiss. Her soft approach quickly turned vicious as she caught his lip in her teeth, crashing into his chest. The moan she released went straight to his nether region. That was when his logic kicked into high gear. He cast this one aside as well before it had a chance to rebuttal.

He had closed his eyes, imagining the woman he adored in her usual spot. Curled up against a wall, his Asher paid more thought to her text than the growing need between his legs. That was how it should have been. She was dedicated to her studies in order to use her knowledge for the betterment of the Circle. Asher's innocence kept him in line as the trust she had in Cullen overpowered his impulse to claim her. The delicate bond they shared was too pure for him to taint.

That is, until he opened his eyes to see their third Asher.

The pale hue of her skin that he caught glimpses of in the past was now exposed completely before him. He examined her with dumbfound eagerness from head to toe. She was a deep dusty rose. The sort of color he fantasized to tease in his dreams. There was a slight curve to her hips, revealing more assets he would have never guessed existed beneath the baggy robes she was subjected to. As he traveled further south, he made note of the curls that darkened just above her dip. He wished he could drop to his knees if only to bask at the skin of her stomach. He would shower her with his love, gripping at her waist to secure her from flight. His playful bites to her hip bone would permit him access to her depths with his wandering fingers. The caress of his touch would make her buck as he rubbed circles at her opening. Feeling her wet response, she whimpered a nod of consent that would allow him to push into her. One finger in to tease her control. Second finger in to beckon her release. That was all he needed. Her sweet cries would be enough make him lose his mind.

Before he realized how far his thoughts roamed, Cullen found himself already at her folds, parting through the pink to taste her core. Just as he had imagined it for so many nights, this Asher screamed at the friction of his tongue. She called to him in unfinished, incomprehensible sentences, pleading for more. Harder, she said. Treasure, she named him.

How his reasoning took over was beyond him. That was the final straw. He knew he would not be able to withstand another Asher so he cast the barrier to bar any more demons from entering his mind. Soon after, the mages grew tired of his unyielding defense, retreating to the Harrowing Chamber in order to continue suffocating the will of his fellow men in arms. Their shrieks were horrifying and all Cullen could do was sit in his corner and listen as death fell upon them.

As the sounds the died down and he awaited his turn to meet his end, Cullen heard his name escape from the fourth Asher that stood across the room. He was unsure as to when the mages had summoned this demon. She was certainly different from the others, seemingly broken just as he was. She knelt to the ground and spoke words that gnawed at his last restraint. There was kindness. And sympathy. And patience. But worst of all, there was compassion.

He snapped.

The nightmare escalated into the unspeakable. He mocked her, spitting harsh remarks that shattered everything. Every night he woke up to her scream, with the last scene of her smashing her skull against the floor etching into his mind. Because of this, Cullen started to consume more lyrium, if only to find rest for a few moments before being thrust back into that hell. He could not convince himself to approach her after what he envisioned in his sleep. She promised to return to him and here he was, unwilling to accept her because of the tricks his mind played. By now, she must have forgotten everything along with his confession that he buried underneath layers of shame.

Greagoir had noticed his lyrium increase, much to his disdain. At first he scolded Cullen, citing cases of addiction and overdose of past Templars. After his words were ignored, Greagoir decided a different approach. As Cullen worked on his dinner one evening, he found himself sitting across the Knight-Commander who took his meal in the dinning hall that day. He stared at him for a short while before finally speaking up.

"You haven't talked to anyone about what happened, Rutherford."

Cullen did not look his way, focusing on finishing his food. "I don't need to."

"That's not good for your mental health." Greagoir sighed. "It is your duty as a Templar to remain in top shape and that includes keeping a clear mind."

Duty. It was always something about duty with this man. Cullen gripped his spoon as his knuckles turned white. "Have I been performing poorly as of late, Knight-Commander?"

"No, you have not." He replied slowly.

"Do any of the other Templars find my work unsatisfactory?"

"No, they do not."

Cullen's nostrils flared. "Then my duty as a Templar has not been jeopardized by our recent events. I believe there is nothing more that needs to be said, sir."

"Watch your attitude, Rutherford." Greagoir lowered his voice. "When your superior gives you an order, you follow it."

He looked up from his bowl. "Are you ordering me to 'talk' to someone, sir? To whom do you wish for me to 'talk', sir?"

"'Sir', my ass." Greagoir slammed his fist as he rose to his feet. "Fuck off, Rutherford."

Picking up his empty bowl, Cullen stood up as well. Giving a short bow, he answered with a sneer, "Gladly, sir."

That was the extent of his so called intervention. Greagoir stormed off to his office as Cullen made a line to the dungeons for the night. They never brought his change in lyrium diet again. He was angry. Always angry. Most of the time he spent wallowing in this fury, getting irritated at every little thing. Whether it was a recruit messing up their assignment or an Enchanter tripping over the rug, everyone set him off. Cullen remained in isolation from the rest of the Tower, preferring the company of empty walls than another idiot stumbling under his feet. Anything to keep his thoughts from reminiscing on his torture.

And once again, fate decided to toy with him. Night patrol meant he would rarely have the chance to encounter her. Not tonight, it seemed.

Today, Asher huddled at the chapel. She reached out to light one of the candles that had gone out on the ground. Her palm held the flame from extinguishing as she worked to ignite another one. The silent spell she casted danced in her hands. Andraste's statue towered over her, extended arms hanging high above her head. From his perspective, it was as if Andraste herself was blessing Asher. The sight was breathtaking, causing his insides to stir.

To his surprise, Asher lifted her gaze as she turned in his direction. The green in her eyes that was once welcoming now pierced with a chill. Her voice appeared just as cold. "Is there something you need?"

Cullen swayed from one leg to the next, unsure of whether he should engage in conversation or simply bail. "N-no."

The yellow light that emanated from the chapel corner rested on her cheekbones elegantly as she continued. "I should be on my way then. Have a good night."

He did not know what came over him as Cullen stepped to seal off her path. She was not the only one shocked to see his response as Cullen struggled to come up with an excuse. Rather than rely on another attempt at small talk, he braced himself to speak the truth from his heart, sweat forming at the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry." He blurted out.

Asher's eyes widened at the statement. "For what?"

Cullen gulped, fighting back the anxiety. "I made you wait after I asked that you come back to me. I haven't been all there for the past couple weeks... I fear I may still not be... but I want to apologize."

"Don't." She shook her head. "You need to focus on getting better. I did not think anything of it."

There was a pang that hit his heart. Anger swelled and rose to the surface. He took a daring step forward. "Truly? I meant nothing then?"

Asher backed up, looking down as she spoke with spite in her words just the same. "Please don't come any closer."

Cullen halted at the sudden change in atmosphere. He had been furious for weeks but what of her? Had Asher also been fuming? It did not occur to him how much anger she might have accumulated as well. His throat dried as he searched for his question.

"What are you trying to imply?" Was all he could muster. The sentence sounded too cruel.

She turned his way. There was an uneasiness in her expression as she sucked in a breath. “You’re a Templar and I’m a Mage. I imagine it must interfere with your duty to trust someone like me."

Again with the duty. She sounded just like Greagoir. He bit the inside of his mouth, holding back the frustration. “Are you saying you’re perfectly content with us drawing that line?”

“Cullen…” She paused. “I’m not happy with distancing Templars from Mages, but I also recognize that we have responsibility to answer to a higher power that is yet to come to terms with one another.”

“That’s not what I’m asking and you know that.” Cullen interrupted, “I want to know whether you wish for me to treat you as a Templar does a Mage.”

She cast her gaze away.

“Damn it, Asher,” Cullen came closer, merely a stride away. "Say you want it.”

Asher tilted her head down, closing her eyes shut. Her brow furrowed as she bit down on her lower lip. He could sense that she was holding something back. He decided to push that limit.

Cullen took the opportunity to sneak his hand around her waist to the small of her back. Pulling her in closer despite her palms pushing against his armor, he hissed, “Tell me you want us to stop this.”

She contorted in every direction she could, attempting to escape his grip. Cullen drew a second hand to grasp at her hips. Another risk. Guiding her toward the wall, he cornered her to the stone as her spine gingerly touched the surface.

“Tell me all of this has been one sided on my part.”

Asher wriggled in spite of his hold. He tightened, closing the last inch of space between them. The final risk.

“Tell me that you’re just an addiction.”

She shoved her hands against him violently but Cullen did not permit her any advantage. Her unsuccessful resistance quickly turned into a desperate sob.

His control cracked. He leaned in allowing his nose to brush to her cheek. Her eyes shot open and she made the mistake to turn to her left. It was the perfect opening. Everything aligned as if the heavens were granting the unthinkable to occur. Victory was eminent. What followed next was beyond anything he could have predicted.

Her scream echoed at the chapel walls, causing Cullen to jerk backwards, releasing her from his embrace. Asher collapsed to the ground as she tightened her fists into her hair. It was all too familiar suddenly. The scenes that he dreamed had manifested into reality as realization sunk in. He had already done it. He had done the unspeakable. He had already mocked her, and shattered her, and broke her once before. This nightmare he relived so many times was not merely a figment of his imagination. This was a hollow representation of a memory his brain chose to forget while his heart reminded him each night of the shame he carried for past actions. Dropping to his knees in front of her, Cullen lowered his head to the floor as if performing a prayer. The damage had been done.

"Asher..." His body shook as he spoke to the ground, "My love, please forgive me... I didn't know..."

She wept without pause. The cries that escaped her were stronger than any punch he endured to the gut.

"You were absolutely correct. I was not in the right state of mind." Cullen whispered. "I should have let you in. I should have trusted you to help me."

Asher was no longer listening.

His own tears began to spill. "Please don't hide your compassion from me."

The whimper of her voice ruined him as she muttered, " _I hate you_."

Cullen could not stop now. "I love you."

He was suddenly lifted to his feet. Without understanding what transpired, Cullen found himself thrusted across the room as he collided with a wall. His breath rushed from his lungs as he struggled to find his center. Glancing up, his eyes came in contact with the fury of his Knight-Commander. The loud ring in his ears deafened everything around him as he picked up on a sole word among all of the yelling.

 _Greenfell_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write smut, I swear! Then this happened...


	10. Letters of a Hollow Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher receives a letter from an unexpected source.

9:31 Dragon

* * *

 

Asher stared at Templar Revitt without uttering a word, mouth agape as she attempted to process his statement. The piece of folded parchment in his hand was extended in her direction as he waited for her to take it from his hand. _There's a letter for you._

She hesitated to take the note, noticing the seal was yet to be broken. Upon normal protocol, any letters that were sent to a Circle mage had to first be read and approved for viewing by the Knight Commander. Both Holland and Leliana had written to her as her superiors prematurely read their letters before they ever reached her. There had to be something unique to this specific note. She was not the only one to recognize that something was amiss.

"Greagoir says it's important that you read it first." Revitt frowned, nudging the envelope again. "The King's royal mark is stamped on the front."

Tilting forward, Asher reached out with a shaken hand to grab the letter from him. Sure enough, the stamped seal belonged to the Crown as it etched within the deep burgundy wax. She glanced up to Revitt who was staring with intent, eager to know what was written inside. Asher bit her lower lip. "Thank you, Ser Revitt. I must get back to my studies now."

"You're not going to read it?" There was disappointment mixed with frustration in his voice.

"I will," Asher retorted abruptly, "In privacy. Thank you again."

She twisted from him quicker than he could invent a comeback. If the Templars were dismissive of her before, now most of them scrutinized her every move. The talk of the Tower was her so-called betrayal that had sent a fellow Templar back to the Chantry for repentance, as they called it. No one dared to ask what actually transpired, including the mages who scurried like rats at her sight. Overnight she had gained a reputation that brought Asher to the forefront of the Mage and Templar conflicts among Kinloch Hold. Some whispered she had been signaled out by the Hero of Ferelden to lead a revolution. Those rumors were ridiculously absurd. Others gossiped that she was a powerful maleficar that bewitched an innocent Templar into corruption. Those rumors were horrifying.

As Asher made her way to the quarters, her heart raced a million beats. News of Holland's feat at the Battle of Denerim spread across Thedas like wildfire. The Grey Wardens had slain the Archdemon at Fort Drakor, ending the Fifth Blight and drawing away the remaining Darkspawn into the Deep Roads. Holland went on to become the Warden-Commander at Vigil's Keep in Amaranthine to continue serving the cause. Morrigan, the Witch of the Wilds, had once again disappeared from sight after the war, as the tale went. The not-so Lay Sister Leliana answered the call for the newly elected Divine who was in the process of appointing her as the Left. And Alistair... well, much to the surprise of royal families across Ferelden, was proven to be the descendant of the late King Maric and brother to the passed King Cailan. Upon imprisoning the widowed Queen Anora, he ascended to power as the sole ruler of the nation. There was drastic change in the air as everyone, including the Circle Mages and Templars, speculated possibilities to no end.

Clutching the letter in her fist, Asher turned the corner to walk down the stairs. Victory and peace that the Grey Wardens bestowed upon Thedas was predicted to thrive for generations as families reunited to start their lives anew. Villages once lost to the Darkspawn horde were being rebuilt and cities started to thrive from the influx of foreign attention within their markets. Everyone was eagerly settling into this new era, waiting to see what the Crown would achieve next. The partnership between the King and the Warden-Commander brought popularity to Ferelden beyond the border as even Orlais began fabricating legends in song that would occasionally sneak their way into the Tower walls.

Asher pressed open the door to slip inside her room, away from the unwanted attention as she sat at her bedside. Most of her roommates were still in the libraries, which prompted the perfect opportunity for her to read the letter in private. She leaned over to ignite the wick of a candle for a dim light to illuminate her corner. Her fingers dug under the fold of the envelope, prodding open the paper as it neatly detached from the seal. The first word read made her frown as her shoulders relaxed into her slouched posture.

_My Darling,_

_I must admit that this was the last outcome any of us could have predicted. You have probably already heard the news - the appointed King of Ferelden is secretly a connoisseur of fine cheese and more so, equally delectable women. I kid, of course. Thought it might make you laugh a little._

She smiled to herself.

_Have you been imagining your life beyond the Tower? I wish I could see what you dream of. I wonder what you desire the most in this world and with whom to share it. Before, I had a certain future envisioned for you. Picture a shabby tent. It does not appear much but your entire life now rests in the confines of this small space. Though not as comfortable as the bed within your Tower, you have acquired something more valuable than anything the Circle could offer._

Asher adjusted in her spot, leaning against the bed frame.

_Wake up one crisp, early morning to the sound of passing gulls. Part the fabric as the sun’s rays creep onto your lap. The darkened twilight sky greets the vast blue sea, placing a kiss upon the distant horizon. Can you see it now? The limitless boundaries before you permit your world to extend beyond the barriers of your Tower. Like a breeze, this feeling is fleeting yet encompassing all at once. The freedom to will your possibilities. Like a breath caught in your throat, knowing you must allow it leave or else risk suffocation._

The distant noise disrupted her reading. Asher flinched slightly, keeping her eyes to the door to check for visitors. When enough time passed and the sound died in the distance, she allowed herself to return to the text.

_I long to see that sunrise with you. How does you skin feel against my lips as I explore your back? You are exposed for me, enthralled with the sight before you while I slip my fingers around to the front of your hips. Your back falls onto my chest with a sigh. The arch of your breasts is welcoming the sun's warmth, heating at its attention. Or is it mine? Perhaps the one responsible for your pleas is the same perpetrator capable of making you whisper phrases that would redden any Chantry Sister into frenzy. I can hear those words now - the names you mercilessly seduce me with._

Asher shook her head, smirking slightly at the thought.

_My world would have been yours. Before the blade could be drawn from the Archdemon's skull, I would have plucked your from that Tower in the middle of the night. We would have travelled north. My mentor once mentioned to me of the blurred line between the Chantry and magic in Rivain. No one would hunt you there. Not while I breathe. I would have built a home for you, tucked away from prying eyes, to spend the rest of eternity at your content._

She paused, her heart sinking to her stomach. Even with her reasoning, Asher could not help but imagine such a life that never came to fruition.

_But as it stands, all I can provide are these hollow promises to keep you company in the evening. I still remember the bittersweet taste of your words, “I have dedicated my entire life to the Circle.” Why? – I wondered initially – You do not owe anything to a world that has cruelly mistreated you for a gift you never asked. It wasn’t until I was faced with a similar situation that I came to appreciate your wisdom._

_Ferelden just survived a Blight and our nation is without a leader. The people may still mourn for their former King but politics will continue at no pause. I used to despise my heritage… I still do at times… born a bastard to parents that neither took me as their own. The Arl of Redcliffe was the only person back then who saw any potential in me. When the time came, I nearly threw myself to the Grey Wardens just to get away from it all. I answered the call once when the Darkspawn threatened our home. Perhaps, it is time to do so again. No matter how much anger I held for my parents, my country still raised me._

_While the Chantry has condemned you for being a mage, you still care for the Circle that took you in. Like you, I will not turn my back from those that need my help. Instead of wallowing in my emotions, I am presented the opportunity to make change. I would be an idiot to pass it. However, I feel regret for getting your hopes up, but I imagine even if I did miraculously manage to show up at your door, you would turn me away before I could say “hello”. I can make but one promise now and I will do everything in my power to see it through._

Asher tensed.

_Succeed your superiors. I will require someone on my side when I begin negotiations with the Chantry over the future of our Circle. I vow to foster a better life for the mages in Ferelden and I cannot do that without you. If I fail, I grant you permission to send that Templar of yours to skin me alive. This will be the last promise I make to you._

_Yours,_  
_Alistair Theirin_

Asher scrolled to the bottom of the page to catch an additional note.

_Also, if the Knight-Commander is reading this, disregard everything above. I love Templars, I swear it… mages should be suppressed… corruption is bad… and so forth. My handwriting is not nearly beautiful enough to write this letter so I will deny everything. Kisses._

She folded the letter back into the envelope. Asher sat in silence for a moment, allowing his words to fully sink in. Even if his earlier promises were too childish to consider, Asher no longer felt alone. There was someone out there, no matter how far from her reach, who was just as dedicated to a cause as she was. She did not care how futile her efforts might be now, not when Alistair was working to achieve the impossible as well. He was not the only one either. Leliana wrote often, sharing her progressive view of mages. How her letters were ever approved to reach Asher was beyond her. Yet, the world continued to reshape itself in the aftermath of the Blight.

A soft knock to her quarters stirred Asher from her musings. She scurried off the bed, hiding the envelope under her pillow, as the door nudged open. Her heart eased at the sight of a familiar face.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" Dagna shuffled inside, expression beaming with excitement. "Word in the hall is that you received a letter that was not inspected by the Knight-Commander!"

Asher sat back down on her bed, motioning for her to join on the mattress. "And you just had to confirm the rumor, I presume?"

"Naturally!" She hopped beside her. "Now spill all of your secrets!"

"You haven't even asked whether the letter is real." Asher laughed.

"I don't have to. Not with the way you're cooped in here. It's pudding night at the dinning hall, after all!"

Asher reached for the pillow to pull out the letter. She paused before Dagna could snatch it. "No sharing. Promise you won't start babbling about it to the rest of the Tower."

"I swear on my life!"

"You swore on your life the last time and now everyone is under the impression that Holland is about to go to war with the Chantry, remember?"

Dagna pouted, shrugging her shoulders. "And I said I was sorry! You know how I am when it comes to the Grey Warden. I'm incredibly thankful that he convinced my parents and the Circle to have me study here. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to make him a little more popular around here…"

"I know. I'm just giving a hard time." Asher smirked, picturing Holland’s dumbfounded reaction if he heard that proclamation. "But seriously. Not a peep."

"Yes, ma'am!" She snagged the letter, leaning against her side.

Asher stared at the opposite wall as Dagna feasted over the parchment. The warmth of her shoulder felt comforting. With Jowan gone and now Cullen sent to Greenfell, she spent most of her days without company, sometimes going on days without uttering a word. When Dagna arrived from Orzammar, she was a breath of fresh air that brought color back into her life. Dagna did not care who Asher was. She never criticized her. Never relied on the rumor mill to shape her views. Their shared craze for studies brought the two together one night as they poured over their text in the library. Dagna spoke first, no hesitation in her voice, as she approached Asher.

"Great ancestors!" She gasped, whirling her head up to Asher. "You could become Queen!"

" _What_?"

"He all but declared his love for you!" Dagna jumped in her spot. "The King is in love with you! I'm not sure I should keep reading this steamy stuff."

"Keep reading, you airhead." Asher sighed heavy. "Not like that'll stop you."

"You're right." She grinned before returning to the letter.

Perhaps it was a mistake to let her read it. Asher closed her eyes, imagining what new gossip will surface from this. Not that any of it mattered anymore. Asher could care less what the hushed whispers spread across Kinloch Hold. Everyone who knew better simply had to ask. Unfortunately, that list of people was quickly diminishing as the months progressed. The First Enchanter was too busy with the recent changes, locked in his office most of the day under piles of paperwork. He did not have the luxury to follow the rumor mill. Wynne, though returned safely from Ostagar, was attending to the apprentices since their shortage of Enchanters. She kept reminding Asher how they would start her Spirit Healing training after everything settled down. Dagna was partially responsible for these wild tales.

The only person left to care was the Knight-Commander who had distanced himself as of late. He refused to speak to her after the breakdown, much less look her way. Ser Greagoir avoided Asher in the halls and sent other Templars to deliver messages. She feared he was angry.

"So, I have a question." Her voice interrupted Asher's thought process as she flinched back to attention. "Who is this ‘Templar of yours’ that King Alistair is referencing?"

Asher felt a lump form at the base of her throat. She fidgeted slightly, unsure how to form her sentences as Dagna patiently waited for an answer. "He's... someone who worked here before you arrived."

Dagna frowned, obviously aware that there was more to it. "And..?"

"You've heard about the Templar that Ser Greagoir sent to Greenfell to 'level out', right?" She mumbled under her nose. "His name is Cullen Rutherford. He was a friend that was severely affected by the events that transpired after Uldred corrupted the Circle."

"And..?" Dagna prolonged the vowel.

Asher sighed with a roll of her eyes. There was no possibility of avoiding this one. "And we were in love."

"Were?” Dagna jumped in her spot. “What happened?"

"I would prefer not to speak of it." Asher looked to the ground as sadness lurked around the corner.

Dagna reached out to place her hand at Asher's, squeezing tightly. It was such a simple gesture yet she knew how to comfort Asher without saying a single word. "Does he still love you?"

"I’m afraid so." Her voice broke to a whisper.

"But you don't love him?"

She paused, contemplating on her reply. "I don't know anymore."

Dagna leaned closer as her second hand sneaked around to give a gentle hug. "Are you in love with the King?"

Asher turned to face her with a smile. "No."

"Really?" She perked. "Not even a little?"

"Not even a little." Asher chuckled.

"Is it because of this Templar?"

"You ask too many questions, friend." Asher brushed her aside, rising to her feet.

"And you clearly still love him." Dagna pointed out. "He must be quite the fellow if he could get you to stop focusing on your texts."

"He is." Asher felt like a dazed schoolgirl that was describing a crush to her best friend, her embarrassment evident. "Cullen serves the Order with the same strong will as we have for the Circle. If you met him, I'm sure you would have gotten along. He can be a bit hard headed at times and stern with his approach, but he is fair in his treatment with everyone."

"How did he treat you?"

The question was unexpected as it threw Asher for a loop. She searched her brain for a proper answer. "Kindly... with affection. He was assigned to my Harrowing the night I tested. We... grew close afterwards."

"So it was love at first Harrowing?" Dagna grinned wide at Asher’s blushing cheeks. "How romantic! A forbidden relationship between a Templar and his Mage. Two worlds apart, colliding to cultivate a passionate romance."

Asher threw her a face. "You are impossible. We only confessed to one another, nothing more. There was no time for relationships when the Tower was crumbling. Afterwards, we both too focused on rebuilding the place rather than act on our feelings."

"Do you wish you did act on it?"

"No," She responded simply. "This is for the best. We could not bring ourselves to be selfish when our superiors called us. It's probably good that nothing came out of it."

"Now you're the one being impossible." Dagna placed her hands at her hips.

"I do my best." Asher grinned. Glancing to the door, she heard her stomach emit a low growl. “I’m starting to get hungry. Do you want to go upstairs to salvage some of that pudding?”

Dagna slid off the mattress, patting herself to straighten the fabric. “Sure!”

She placed the envelope back under Asher’s pillow. The two headed for the hallway promptly as Dagna began her explaining her recent findings with lyrium vapor. Asher listened carefully, trying to keep up with her enthusiasm. She was nowhere near being an expert on the subject but Asher did her best to understand. Dagna was quickly acquiring knowledge, crafting her own experiments, and deducting new discoveries. At times Asher grew jealous of how rapidly her friend was accelerating in comparison to the theory she was still subjected under. To her surprise, Dagna had noticed the nervousness she felt. Every once in a while she would remind Asher of all of her accomplishments, including the practical information she picked up while assisting Wynne in the aftermath of the Broken Circle.

Most fresh mages would probably get in her way, as Dagna remarked, you were able to keep up with Wynne – you should give yourself more credit! Asher appreciated Dagna’s consideration for others; despite how poorly many treated her. She wondered whether that affected Dagna at all and why she continued to address everyone with kindness while they ridiculed behind her back.

As they walked up the steps to the following floor, Asher spotted the Knight-Commander who stopped at the landing. Her grip tightened around the railing. He glanced down to spot them. His chest rose as he gathered breath, stiffening in his spot as well. He spoke up loud enough for his voice to echo within the stairwell chamber.

“Asher. I was just about to come get you.”

She felt lightheaded suddenly. “Oh..? Is there something the matter, Knight-Commander?”

Dagna halted as well by now, glancing between the two of them.

“Yes.” He announced. “I mean, no. The First and Senior Enchanters request you for a meeting. I was asked to escort you to the Harrowing Chamber.”

“I… see.” Asher hesitated. “May I ask what the meeting is about?”

“No.” He replied. “That is, I am not allowed to disclose the information until you are presented before the Enchanters. They will be the ones to provide more detail.”

Asher turned to Dagna who shrugged back with a nod. A sinking thought pecked at her mind. What if the Enchanters decided to believe the rumors?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Letters are cute :) Hopefully this will be a nice break from all the angst as of late before we dive back in for more...


	11. The Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher learns of her greatest sacrifice.

9:31 Dragon

* * *

 

The honey brown of his eyes stared with a blank expression back to Asher. She watched him sit before her, hands tightly clasped together at his thighs as Cullen kept contact with her across the room. The surrounding candles had dimmed as time began to run out for the night to consume them into the darkness. Asher tightened her jaw while her heart hammered at her throat, anxiety kicking in to bar words from escaping her lips.

There was anger. And pain. And regret. All balled into one emotion that overtook her control. Rage.

"You are cruel." She whispered harshly. "You toy with my feelings so easily without a single care."

Cullen remained silent.

"Why did you not trust me?" Asher shrunk her shoulders, keeping her gaze intent on him. "Why did you not allow me to help you?"

His stare felt empty.

"They must have tortured you... broke your will and shattered your sanity. I understand, but..." She paused, closing her eyes shut as she fought to keep her cool. "Why did you not let me in? I could have eased your pain... we could have worked through it."

"'I thought you loved me.'"

The hoarse jeer in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Asher shot her eyes open to catch sight of his changed demeanor. The mask he wore began to crack.

"'I thought you wanted me to return to you.'" Cullen leaned back in his seat, his head cocked to the side. "Do you still yearn to return to him, little one? Are you so desperate for his affection that you would attempt to fix his broken mind?"

Asher froze.

"It's your fault, after all. You're the one responsible for all of this." The demon sneered behind his face. "You should have predicted it better. The higher ranking Enchanters were all on the top floor. Had you used that brain of yours and convinced him to go downstairs instead of up... well... he might still have a functioning noggin intact."

"Stop talking." She hissed, hands clenching in fists. "I do not need you reminding me of this."

"You wanted him safe yet you sent him straight into the mouth of the beast. He did not stand a chance against a group of seasoned mages who could easily tear him to pieces." Cullen's body slouched in the chair, elbows propping against the armrest. "And you have the decency to blame him for all of this? Shows how much love you have for this one. I feel pity for the boy."

"You are not Cullen." Asher inhaled deeply through her nose. "I will not let you manipulate my thoughts."

"Trust me, it doesn't take much effort to guess your reasoning. Not when it's plastered across your face." The demon let out a short laugh. "The guilt! You're haunted by the shame of knowing you are responsible for his downfall!"

Asher turned her head to face away. She knew better than to engage with a demon. It was better to ignore the taunts as her thoughts focused on remaining vigilant to her cause. If she concentrated hard enough, she could make out the faint remnants of the Fade that peeked behind this fabrication of the Circle Tower. Every few seconds the walls would distort to reveal the grey gloom of the land of dreams.

Before she could take another step forward, an arm sneaked around her waist to yank her back. Asher collided with a solid surface as both hands were now firmly placed at her hips, fingers clutching into the fabric of her robes. His sweet breath warmed the exposed skin of her neck causing Asher to jerk madly against the contact. The demon did not allow any of her reaction go unnoticed as a low chuckle erupted from his chest.

"You crave repentance, little one." His voice slithered within her core. "You want to be punished for your wrongdoings."

She nearly lost herself when the demon rubbed slowly against her back. Fear grasped her heart as Asher struggled to move away.

"Not so fast," His lips pressed to her flushed skin, hunger evident between each kiss he graced. "Your Templar commands you to obey. Submit to his will... completely. We both know you are quite capable of mending his damaged heart with those curves you taunt."

Asher shuddered against the fingers that dug deeper into her hipbone.

"Truthfully, you require this sort of attention. You think that the complying to his savage fantasies will somehow pardon your mistakes but you are also not being honest with yourself when you deny the fact that you too desire this sort of treatment." His words purred at her ear as he massaged her resistance. "You are prepared to give into that sinful control... willingly, might I add."

"You're ridiculous." Asher wriggled out of his hold, pushing forward. "I know where Cullen is now. I also know that this is merely a dream of the Fade. Your propositions will not sway me from reality."

She took another step, releasing herself from his grip. All she had to do was remember the truths. Cullen was in Greenfell, sent away by Ser Greagoir after their mess. Asher was on a boat, set sail to familiarly unknown lands by her superiors. Her mind was playing tricks and this demon was more than happy to comply with the insanity that plagued her. Asher did not feel remorse. She did not-!

"You lie even to yourself." Cullen's distorted voice rang within her ears. "You are vile."

Her breath escaped abruptly as a hand closed around her neck. Asher stiffened. Control. All she needed was control.

"'I hate you.'" He murmured in her ear. "Would you survive if he said those words to you?"

The demon gave a gentle squeeze, enough to halt some breathing.

"Would you sacrifice your happiness for his?"

The distant croaking sound of seagulls brought Asher out of her slumber. Her eyes opened slowly as she reached up to brush her fingers against her throat. The small cabin rocked back and forth, synchronizing with the passing waves. Asher sat up, struggling to find her center, as she rubbed her temple. Another migraine. More pain to add to her growing heartache and relentless fatigue. Perhaps it was necessary? She was unsure how much longer her patience could endure.

Asher reached under her pillow to pull out a vile that glowed gently in her palm. The warmth brought her momentary peace, if only for a few stolen moments. She stared at the red liquid that gently swayed with the cabin, crashing against the inner surface only to retreat back once more. This was her essence. She lost track of days, unsure how long they have been at sea now. Everything seemed to muddle into a continuous mess, blurring the past few weeks.

When she walked through the doors of the Harrowing Chamber, the only thought on her mind was the fear of the Enchanters deciding to sentence her for the rumors that circled around Kinloch Hold. As Asher stepped into the center of the room, she had noticed that most of the senior Enchanters were present for the hearing. The First Enchanter stood in the middle, his gaze just as tender as when she first met him. Wynne was to his left. He motioned Asher forward with the Knight-Commander stepping behind to seal off any escape.

"Welcome," He spoke up, "I'm glad you were able to join us tonight."

Asher gave a short bow, keeping her eyes anywhere but his.

"You must be quite confused as to why we called you here," Irving continued with the same, calm demeanor, "It has come to our attention of your involvement in the recent turn of events. I'm sure you are well aware of the tragedy that former Enchanter Uldred and his followers have caused, first hand."

"Yessir." Asher nodded low.

His voice dropped. "We lost a great deal of good people, both mages and templars alike. Those that survived had to carry the burden of keeping up with operations of our Tower despite the significant loss in our ranks."

Asher held her breath. Here it comes. Not only was she partially responsible for sending Cullen off to Greenfell, now her presence was disrupting what little peace they found in the aftermath of the Broken Circle. She sweated the sentence she would receive. Would they send her into isolation to sort out the turmoil she caused? Would she be reassigned to night duties to avoid as much contact with other mages as possible? Or worse, would she be subjected to become Tranquil in fear of the stirring gossip? Asher felt dizzy at the thought of each scenario.

"Thus, the Senior Enchanters have come to a consensus." Irving took a pause.

She braced herself for the punishment.

"For the hard work and dedication you have exemplified in these past few months as you assisted to restore balance to the Tower, we see fit that you be granted title of Enchanter."

Her eyes widened. Asher snapped up to face the rest of the Enchanters in disbelief. Words refused to manifest within her throat. Tranquility was something she could prepare to endure but reward was the last thing on her mind.

"As an Enchanter you will be able to specialize in a field of study." Irving let out a warm smile as if to reassure her confusion. "Knowing your enthusiasm for the craft, I imagine you will continue to progress up that ladder. It won't be long before we see you blossom into a Junior Enchanter, if not Senior."

"Sir," She breathed out, barely keeping herself upright. "I am... honored. And... a bit of a loss of words. I apologize."

He held up his hand, palm extended outward. "It is quite alright, young one. Unfortunately, we are not finished just yet."

Asher shrunk back in her space as her heart skipped a beat from the stress.

"We have been informed that the Starkhaven Tower has recently burned down." Irving sighed deeply. "Most of the survivors had to be transported to another Circle. Kirkwall has seen an influx in not only Ferelden refuges from the Blight but also the increase in mages that travelled from Starkhaven. They are currently witnessing a disproportionate imbalance between Enchanters and Apprentices."

Asher furrowed her brow, attempting to process the statement.

"Our situation here is not nearly as dire as our neighbors are experiencing. With your recent promotion to Enchanter, we see it fit to send you to Kirkwall to serve as a guide for the new Apprentices."

Her ears were deafening from the panic that was boiling at the brim.

"Kirkwall is in need of Enchanters who could work with the new mages entering their Circle." Irving spoke slowly, recognizing her delayed uptake. "First Enchanter Orsino has contacted us personally for anyone we would spare to send his way. We all feel that this is a good opportunity for you to continue evolving in your studies as you take upon this challenge."

"First Enchanter," She paused to formulate her thoughts carefully, "You want to send me to Kirkwall to assist the Circle there? But... I am not specialized yet. What use can I possibly be?"

"Your patience and willingness to work with others is exactly what Kirkwall desperately craves at the moment." Wynne interjected, "Even without a specialization, you have proven your worth to the Circle by placing the needs of others before your own."

"Besides," Irving continued, "With time, you will continue to develop your skills. Sometimes it is better to dive headfirst into a situation to learn than spend countless nights studying theory that is never practiced."

He gave a short wink as Asher reddened. Her mind failed to focus on the current situation as Asher struggled to keep up with the instruction her superiors had continued to dispense. She was to pack immediately to begin her travels across Ferelden for the Waking Sea. There, she was to cross the waters on boat. Her leave was to commence at nightfall under the guidance of another Templar who would escort her to Kirkwall. Asher's heart sunk lower and lower. The severity of the situation finally hit her.

Dagna became a loving friend in such a short span of time. Before they could continue to cultivate their friendship, Dagna was to be erased from her life. As if their encounter meant nothing to the world.

There may be a First Enchanter in Kirkwall, but there will never be another Irving. Asher could no longer look to her inspiration for guidance in time of self doubt and criticism. Her dreams to succeed him were crumbling.

Before she had the opportunity to reunite with her mentor after the close call in Ostagar, Wynne was once more torn away from Asher. Their time spent together was diminishing by each day and now Asher may never spare another second in her company.

The worst of all was seeing Ser Greagoir's pained expression as Asher turned back to face him after her hearing. He stood at the doorway, awaiting for her return in silence. He had known the pretense of this meeting all along as he watched Asher slip from his grasp to meet her new destiny. It was unfair. The life she had fostered within this Circle was being ripped apart and there was nothing she could do to stop the agony within her chest from spreading. She kept her stare to the ground as the two remained still within the empty hallway. Her vision suddenly blurred. As Asher attempted to take in a breath, her dignity cracked, her shoulders shuddering from the emotions that rushed to the surface. Hot tears rolled over her cheeks.

She was selfish. The desire to remain in this Tower was overpowering the gratitude she was supposed to feel for her new possibilities. Yet Asher kept condemning the Enchanters for ruining her peace. Just when she thought she could finally begin recovering from the horrors that shattered her world, Asher was slapped in the face with another dose of reality. He life was not her own. The Circle, much like the Chantry, had complete control over her future regardless what she wished. Regardless whether she had worked to please the institution, follow all of the rules despite how absurd at times, or seek knowledge for better maintaining her magic to ward away the corruption, Asher was bound to a life of servitude to an order that may never look out for her best interest.

It was difficult to remain an adult in this situation. Asher felt immense shame for weeping like a child who was refused their way. She desperately searched for the silver lining that would guide her to recognize that bigger picture. But no matter how much she tried to force her reason to cooperate, anger and betrayal poisoned her mind.

Ser Greagoir's voice finally brought Asher back from her spiraling thoughts. His sentence was exact as it pierced her. "You cannot let them see you cry."

Asher felt her heart jump to her throat. Now Ser Greagoir was scolding her for a moment of weakness.

"Kirkwall is in a lot of pain and what they need the most right now is a fresh perspective and optimistic enthusiasm." He continued in a near whisper. "Kirkwall needs the old you."

She glanced up, her brow furrowing with confusion. She wanted nothing more than to yell. Where had he been all this time? Did he not see that the 'old' Asher was buried underneath layers of depression and fury? Maybe she could muster the energy to smile for Dagna. Or conjure a decent composure to keep the First Enchanter from worrying too much. But anyone could clearly tell that there was something fundamentally off with her and Asher desperately tried to control the chaos from bursting out. Not now though. Now she wanted to scream to the top of the Tower with the full force of her lungs until she grew hoarse.

"You are most strong when you cast aside your own wellbeing to help others." Ser Greagoir continued despite the anger that flared in her eyes. "It is improper for us to ask you of this, but the Enchanters all agree that you are at your best when you are not given the opportunity to wallow in your thoughts. However, that is not to say that your mental health should be forgotten.

"When you show compassion to others for their misfortunes in spite of your own, you will find yourself surrounded by people who will offer their assistance to you in turn. Before, you relied on Bradley while your friendship still developed during adolescence." Ser Greagoir paused, noticing her flinch. "When... he made the decision to pursue a different path in life that you could not follow, without realizing it, you began to rely on Rutherford. Your ideals aligned with his and you were faced with a different kind of relationship. When it... fell apart..."

"You don't have to elaborate." Asher retorted sharply. "I get it... I sought a friendship with Dagna. I rely on others to bring happiness in my life because I am incapable of doing so myself. I'm weak... I get it."

"It is not a weakness," His voice grew more stern. "You are capable of setting aside your own happiness for the sake of others. It is a sacrifice that many cherish, understanding that they cannot do the same. That is why people gravitate to you. You can instill optimism in others even if you are breaking apart on the inside. That is the reason for your promotion. It is not about how many nights you spent studying or the amount of written exams you passed... it is what you are willing to give up for others."

Asher could not come up with a reply. She turned to look away, shame returning to her mind for doubting her superiors.

"But tonight," Ser Greagoir reached around to pull something from within his armor, "Tonight you are allowed to cry."

The gleam of red that she spotted in the corner of her eye drew her back to him. Asher froze, her mind stuttering at the sight. In the gloved palm of his hand, Ser Greagoir held her phylactery. The light bounced off its surface, enticing the call within her veins to come forth. Asher could not calculate the future quick enough before Ser Greagoir spoke up again. "Do not allow yourself to completely rely on others. Turn your weakness into an impenetrable armor that will guide you down a path your morals take."

Asher struggled through her dry throat. "Sir... I cannot..."

He leaned forward to take her hand. The smooth lining of her vial glided across her palm as he placed the phylactery in her possession. "There are dozens of protocols that I break by giving this to you... and yet, my own morals lead me to believe that this is the best course of action that will help pave your best future. Do not make me regret it."

She closed her grip around the vial, feeling the pulse beat faster. Her future was set in her hands.

Now she sat in an isolated cabin of the ship that sailed idly toward her new possibilities. The nightmares did not cease and her heart continued to break. Yet, none of that mattered anymore. Not when there were others who suffered from something worse.

Imprisonment.

The weeping statues of Kirkwall were close in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm alive. This chapter is by far the weirdest to write. I experimented with the back and forth to show the scattered mental state. I think it just ended up being all over the place though - haha!


	12. Maker's Sense of Humor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher arrives at Kirkwall.

9:31 Dragon

* * *

 

Grey clouds slowly rolled in as their boat docked at the Gallows that evening. Asher stepped onto the platform, her legs weary of the stable land as she struggled to find balance. Revitt was close behind, keeping a watch on their surroundings intently. She stared up to the agonizing Tevinter statues, a remnant of a time long forgotten. It was ironic and disturbing in equal parts that Kirkwall chose to keep these representations of an old age. She forced to brush aside the thought, pushing herself forward as the soles of her shoes loudly bounced against the stone.

The basalt cliffs that welcomed their arrival had hunched over the sides of the entrance to the Gallows' harbor. The pale grey that colored both the rocks and sky was also evident across most of Kirkwall buildings, it seemed. Asher pulled her cape tighter, the deep burgundy of the thread was stark against the monotone city. The last she saw of Kirkwall were the painted streets of Hightown where vibrant blue skies and lush greenery decorated the scenery. As a child, Asher did not see the city for what it was - a disparity between the rich, who thrived off of the protection of the City Guard, and the poor, who were abused by power, wealth, and greed. She glanced back to Revitt who now walked around at her side. His awkward silence gave away the discomfort he felt in this foreign land.

Asher gave a short smile, attempting at small talk. "I guess this must be what it's like to return back home? I'm not exactly sure what to say."

Revitt flinched, turning his brisk attention to her. "Wouldn't know. I'm Ferelden, after all."

"No," She sighed heavy, the sarcasm settling into her voice, "I guess you wouldn't. You were never snatched from your parents, after all."

He puffed his chest, anger rising at her snide statement. "Watch your mouth, mage."

Asher frowned, tilting her head to the side, taking the risk. "'Mage'? Not 'bitch witch'? I hear that one is pretty popular these days."

Revitt reached over to grab her arm, fingers digging harshly into the skin. Her face remained stoic as Asher refused to let him any victory in her pain. She knew perfectly well what rumors he circulated at the Tower with his coworkers behind her back. If she could not say anything then, perhaps this was her last chance at letting him know what scorn she felt for him.

"You. Will. Yield." He hissed between the teeth.

"Was that a part of your assigned duty?" Asher scoffed in turn. "I did not know castigation was your hobby."

He jerked her arm away, pushing aside and storming past Asher. The mumbling under his breath was still audible enough for her to make out. "Damn, magical freaks. They should all be made Tranquil, for all I care."

"Yes, taking away a person's humanity is quite noble of you." She muttered.

She was becoming bolder by the day and it was a growing concern, according to her Enchanters. Asher bit her tongue, regretting the words once she realized how close Revitt had been to physically retaliate. She was grateful that there were enough refugees around to notice their dispute. They continued down the harbor for the main courtyard without exchanging any more verbal threats. He had purposely picked speed as Asher struggled to keep up. She figured he was trying to rid of her as quickly as he could to start making his way back to Ferelden. She couldn't blame him for it either. Everything about this place made her skin crawl. The rose stained memories from her childhood were not matching to the reality she faced at the present.

As they walked into the open space, Asher took note of the abundance in Templars who patrolled the area. New recruits huddled against the wall, exchanging conversation, while their seniors kept watch from the steps that lead to the Circle. To her surprise, merchants were also present who called out for passing refugees to swindle their remaining coin. A Tranquil woman conversed with a man as he glanced through her wares. Next to her, a rather charismatic fellow waved his arms to gather more interest in his herbs. Asher's eyes wandered in every which direction, taking in as much of the scenery as she could in fear of never seeing it again. The pulse that radiated in her pocket increased as she clutched the hidden vial. Its warmth was starting to become a strange comfort that calmed her mind from wandering too far, keeping the uneasiness and dread in check.

Upon noticing them, one of the senior Templars left his post to approach. Revitt halted in his tracks as Asher avoided nearly colliding into his armor. He straightened, broadening his stance.

"State your business, Templar." The man before them announced, keeping enough distance for good measure.

"Revitt, sir." He called out, voice slightly shaking, "I am here to escort this mage to Kirkwall. First Enchanter Orsino has requested additional assistance and the Kinloch Tower has found a spare to offer."

Asher frowned. Now he was treating her like property, as if she was something that could be easily handed over, like leftover bread or a spare blade. The other Templar noticed her discontent. "This the mage? She's rather young, isn't she? What use could we have with an apprentice?"

"I'm not an apprentice," Asher replied swiftly only to notice the instant coldness form in this man's eyes. "Sir. My name is Asher Amell. I am a recently appointed Enchanter."

"Amell?" It was such an unusual sight to hear a Templar call her by her surname. "We have a few Amells in Kirkwall. Are you from around here?"

Before she allowed Revitt to interject on her behalf, Asher continued, "Yes, sir. My family used to reside in Kirkwall. I was brought to the Ferelden Circle when I was very young when my magic became apparent."

His nose scrunched a bit as he swayed from one leg to the other. Crossing his arms, the Templar leaned back with a smirk forming at the sight. "We've been receiving an influx of Ferelden refugees and now it seems one of our own is amidst the pack. Funny how you find yourself in this part of Thedas once more. I guess the Maker has a wicked sense of humor."

"So it would seem..." She looked down to her feet. Humor was one way to put it if not irony.

"Well, you won't find a hearty welcome here, unfortunately." The man sighed. "Not with the way everything's been going on. First the Blight plagues the south with folks running amok, filling up Kirkwall to the brim. Then that Starkhaven Circle burns down and their mages come here. Now this Arishok and his Qunari take refuge in the Docks. I swear, the Viscount is too gentle for this city sometimes."

"It appears that you have a lot on your plate." Asher glanced up, her eyes analyzing this man's actions. He may be of senior rank but it was obvious from the way the recruits walked about that he did not impose his authority. He must have been a corporal at best.

"Yes, well, you will be pretty busy yourself. I imagine the First Enchanter is eager to hear of your arrival with what little help they can find." The Templar stepped aside, his arm extended forward to signal the way. Looking back to Revitt, he spoke, "I'll be taking Amell up to the Circle now. If you hang about the courtyard, the next ship to Denerim will be arriving shortly."

Revitt gapped slightly. "I'm not to join you in the Templar Hall while I wait?"

"Sorry, mate." The man smiled broadly. "You're not Kirkwall enough. Besides, our Templars are far too busy to keep an eye on a foreigner when their hands are full with all of our mages. It'd be easier for everyone if you stayed out here."

Asher bit back a laugh. Maybe this Maker did have a sense of humor?

She was about to follow when the Templar suddenly stopped. "Ah... that's right. Before I forget and Meredith has my head. Revitt, was it? If you would be so kind, her phylactery, please?"

It was Revitt's turn to cross his arms, shoulders tightening in his stance. "Can't. Our Knight-Commander did not give permission to release her vial. Since she's being offered to Kirkwall temporarily, we'll be coming back for our mage once your mess has been sorted. Orders from above."

"I see you still want to keep a close leash on your mages even if they're serving a different Circle." The Templar frowned. "Very well. I'll inform my Knight-Commander."

Asher swore her heart nearly ceased. She recalled Ser Greagoir's warning before she left the Tower. _Let Revitt speak. Don't utter a word about your phylactery._ It all made sense now. Revitt kept intimidating her during their entire trip on how he could catch Asher should she get the bright idea to run from him. She finally understood that his threats were baseless as he was unaware of the truth. She played along, as Ser Greagoir instructed her, to not raise any suspicion. As the two continued climbing up the steps, Asher held her breath, nervously awaiting what next trial she'd have to face to keep up the facade.

The Kirkwall Circle was a conglomeration of various buildings stacked next to one another that overlooked a small yard at its center. But unlike Kinloch Hold whose windows were beautifully stained and raised high above to prevent the mages from staring outside, Kirkwall had wide, clear windows that opened to the vast ocean and scaling cliffs below. There was freedom to see the world beyond the walls without any hope to escape from the prison. It was a taunt to let the mages know that their fate was sealed to the island.

Asher followed the Templar close behind as they glided through the hallways. She held in her breath, preparing for the worst. As they turned another seemingly endless corner, she noticed the elder man who stood at the door with his hands resting neatly behind his back. His hazel eyes met Asher's with a warm smile spreading from cheek to cheek. The Templar paused, straightening himself at this man's presence.

"First Enchanter," He proclaimed sincerely, "This is Enchanter Amell, your new recruit from Ferelden. The Knight-Commander ordered that I bring her to you, sir."

"Thank you, Ser Samson." The First Enchanter replied. His voice was deeper than what Asher anticipated. "I will take the Enchanter off your hands now. Do send the Knight-Commander my regards."

Samson gave a low bow before turning back to make his leave. As his footsteps deafened into silence, Asher awaited for the First Enchanter to make the initial move. She stared at the man before her. His elven background was not unexpected. After all, Asher had seen plenty elven mages in Ferelden, though none that rose to such a high rank. His robes were precise, just as his movements as the First Enchanter stepped forward to greet her.

"Welcome to Kirkwall, Lady Amell. I believe this is not your first time here, from what I hear."

Asher shook her head lightly. "It may as well be, sir. I do not remember much of Kirkwall and everything appears new and different. A welcome is probably more accurate."

"Then a proper tour is in order, after all." His palm moved to push open the door behind him. "But first, you must be quite tired from your travels. I recommend retiring to your room for rest. Tomorrow will give plenty opportunity to see the Circle."

They walked through into a smaller hallway where more doors lined against the walls. The First Enchanter led the way to one of the entrances further down. She looked about as it finally sunk in. This was the living quarters for Enchanters as Orsino propped open the door to her room. Her assigned space was smaller than the one at Kinloch Hold but more intimate for privacy. She did not have to share with anyone else, much to her surprise, as Asher stepped into her new sanctuary. There was a window with a wide sill across the room that opened to the storming seas. The bed was placed snug against the wall nearby with a cabinet for her belongings next to it. Asher turned back to the First Enchanter.

"I didn't... I'm sorry..." She paused to search her mind for full sentences. "This is the first time since joining the Circle that I am granted a room to myself. I am... grateful. Thank you."

The First Enchanter chuckled gently. "I'm glad to know that we have something in Kirkwall to offer in return for your help."

His laugh was refreshing to her ears. Ashers reddened a little.

"Irving mentioned that you are yet to be specialized and we thought it useful that you have a private area to continue your studies." Orsino proceeded, "We were also informed that you have a tendency to stay up late into the night at the library. Though we have a strict rule against staying out past hours, you are allowed to continue studying as long as you're confined to your room."

"I cannot remain in the library at nightfall? Even if I'm just reading..?" Asher furrowed her brow. This was an unexpected turn of events.

"I'm afraid not," He replied with a pained expression, something clearly hidden. "It's easier for our Templars to keep watch at night. The Knight-Commander has mandated this."

Asher fell silent. Whoever this Knight-Commander was, they had already made her feel weary. If reading past hours was reprehensible, what else could be constituted for punishment? Noting her discomfort, the First Enchanter changed subjects as he stepped back into the hallway.

"Dinner will be served shortly. I'll send one of our apprentices to fetch you for the dining hall so that you do not get lost." He pulled at the door to motion it forward. "Until then, I hope you take the time to rest as much as you can."

The door creaked shut, bounding her to the room.

Asher slid on the bed, staring blank at the wall across from her. Placing her bag at her side, she reached under her shawl to pull out the phylactery, careful to keep it hidden underneath the fabric in case anyone barged in. The beat of her heart synched to the rhythm of the vial perfectly. Closing her eyes, Asher inhaled deep as the scent of the ocean sneaked through the crack of her window. Everything was foreign yet enticing at the same time. She was eager to get back to her studies but the prospect of working with apprentices kept her distracted. Having been cooped up in the library for so long was starting to weigh on her. Asher was beginning to crave social contact for the first time in a long while.

Perhaps this was a sign. How much longer would she keep isolated from other mages? When Jowan betrayed the Circle, she distanced herself from everyone, too afraid that they would brand her a blood mage, too hurt for contact so soon. Then Cullen appeared and everything threw off balance. Instead of turning to her fellow mages, she made the decision to connect with a Templar, of all people. And then her heart broke into a million pieces, void of all possibilities.

She felt immense guilt the months following. And so much fierce anger. Until everything within her turned cold and numb and dead. Dagna was a saving grace that kept her afloat during those low points.

Asher gripped her shawl, fists turning white as she fought against these emotions. Not again. How many times would she show weakness? Dagna promised to write and, as Revitt stated, she had to remind herself that this was a temporary assignment. There would come a time when they will reunite. All Asher had to do was focus on her current task to finish her duties as quickly as possible. Then she could see Dagna again and they would stay up late in the library until the morning dawn without any absurd rules to keep them chained down. She smiled at the thought.

Asher fell backwards, laying flat on the bed. Perhaps this was what she needed. Kinloch Hold held too many raw memories at the moment. The hallways grew lonely without him and his absence only made her hurt more. The last thing she remembered was his kneeling image that haunted her dreams when she awoke each night from terrors. Even as the demons did not take up his face, Asher kept imagining Cullen before her, broken and in pain from the words that she regretted to slip. Dagna said it was because she still loved him. If this was love, then she would give anything to get rid of this excruciating pain. It would have been easier if she did not approach him after her Harrowing. If she opted to keep her mouth shut, if she kept her courtesy to herself that day, maybe their paths would never cross. Maybe he would have reported to Ser Greagoir during Uldred's siege. Maybe he would have never been subjected to that torture. Maybe he would have been happily serving at the Tower without sparing another thought for her.

Now she was in Kirkwall where nothing could remind her of him. And he was in Greenfell where he could focus getting better and forget her, permanently. She was free to reshape her image in any way she pleased without her past interfering with people's perceptions. She finally had the opportunity to start over, make up for her mistakes, and serve for a greater cause. Asher could not afford to mess this up.

Sitting back up, Asher rose to her feet. She looked to the window. Nighttime was spreading across the sky as the stars gleamed bright, illuminating the dark waters. Like the ocean before her, Asher's possibilities were endless. She pressed against the glass to open the window, allowing the gust of wind to crash her body. Asher braced for the chill. If she could survive Kirkwall, she could achieve anything she wanted. She could specialize here and bring back a different study to Kinloch Hold. She would work to succeed her superiors, placing herself at the First Enchanter's side. And when the time came, she'd continue in Irving's place, leading the Tower in a peaceful direction while working harmoniously with Templars and the Chantry. There were people beyond the Circle who were relying on her success.

The possibilities did not end here and it was absurd to continue groveling at her regrets. Now was the time to act.

A knock at her door brought Asher back to the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now things are about to pick up again :)


	13. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen in Kirkwall.

9:31 Dragon

* * *

 

She probably does not remember it. When Asher greeted Cullen after her Harrowing, she must have assumed the previous night to be their first encounter. It was a shame that she meet him under such unpleasant circumstances. Especially considering his memories of her were much sweeter in contrast. When his days at Greenfell grew bleak from the Chantry monologues, Cullen reminisced to that moment during his boredom; the few pleasures he had remaining, the only happy portrayal of Asher that his mind cherished. These were calmer days before she was left broken by his cruelty. Before he wrecked her. This was the Asher he met two years prior.

The weather was unusually warm that month. Most of the mages craved to explore the outdoors before winter had a chance to arrive. The Knight-Commander was growing tired of everyone's unyielding requests to spend the afternoon by the lake until he finally caved in. Cullen was assigned watch duty - a pleasant task where he'd enjoy some fresh air while the mages relaxed by the waters. Simple enough.

Cullen observed them from his shaded spot under the tree nearby. From apprentices to Enchanters, everyone seemed to bask under the sun that day. It was a nice change in their usual studious pace. The calm was lulling him to sleep, his eyes growing heavy as the birds chirped lullabies for him.

That was when he caught sight of her, a mock of short hair in the passing wind as she raced with another mage for the lake. He managed to quickly catch up to her, swooping Asher into a great hug to lift in his arms. Her laughter was lyrical.

"I was so close!"

"Too bad I'm faster!" The young man smiled back. He stepped toward the water, lowering her to elicit another wondrous squeal of joy.

"Jowan!" She yelped at the contact, "You jerk! That's cold!"

Jowan bent down. Scooping his hands into the lake, with one broad wave, he sent the water splashing in her direction. Her surprise was equal parts irritation and happiness. She reached down to retaliate with her own assault. They continued back and forth, giggles echoing across the field.

Unlike most of the other mages who traveled in packs of four or more, these two kept primarily to themselves, content with their own company. They were rarely separated, seemingly joined at the hip, and for what Cullen could tell, Jowan and Asher had known each other since they arrived to Kinloch Hold as children. He watched in silence, keeping a close eye.

Their back and forth shenanigans quickly ended as both were now focused on something at their feet. Asher bent down to roll up her robes, exposing the skin of her legs. He was grateful that everyone was too preoccupied to notice his bright, red expression. She crouched lower with Jowan standing directly over, also intent on whatever drew their attention.

"Why is it so green?" He asked, placing his hands at his waist.

"I don't know." Asher replied as she plucked something from the water. "I've never seen such a bright green before."

Now Jowan squatted at her eye level. He reached in as well to shuffle through the sand. When he emerged, Cullen finally caught a glimpse at their fascination.

"Look! This one is pink!" Jowan beamed as he held up a round shell.

"You have to save that one!" Her smile dazzled with the sunlight. "It can go into the collection."

The droplets of water that soaked her hair skidded down the cheeks.

This was the first time he laid eyes on her. Fascinated with the world while oblivious to his existence. Her interest in everything around her was magnetic. Cullen was certain that this was supposed to be the norm. All he had to do was keep still and watch as she went about her business without so much of a glance his way. If he was lucky, he might spot her a few times a week while they both tended to their duties. An innocent glance there, a gentle brush of sleeve here.

So when Cullen stared, mouth ajar, at Samson across the hallway, he was unsure whether he misheard or was simply going insane. They were at their usual patrol today, sweeping the floors. Seeing as how Cullen was still on his probation period, Samson had been assigned to mentor him until he could fully adjust to his new position. Knight-Captain. It rolled off the tongue seamlessly. When Cullen returned to the Tower from Greenfell, the last thing he expected was a promotion of ranks. The Knight-Commander felt it was justifiable to see him proceed up the ladder, despite his previous behavior, in favor of his duty to Kinloch Hold during the siege. Then he learned of Kirkwall's situation and the promotion made more sense. The Templars here needed a guiding hand as everyone adjusted to the changing population, both within and outside the Circle.

The last thing he wanted to do before his departure from the Tower was interfere with Asher. Their encounter was never supposed to occur. And when Cullen was sent to Greenfell, he was certain that fate had returned to its usual course. He messed up. Horrendously. He hurt her, certain beyond repair. When his superiors informed him of his transfer to Kirkwall, Cullen accepted his new job without argument. This was an opportunity to distance himself from Asher, to allow her to heal on her own without him ruining her future. Perhaps, with time, she could finally move on to live a normal life after she overcame the trauma. Perhaps... if there was such a thing as a 'normal life' for mages? In truth, any life without him would be better. He would no longer subject her to his childish behavior or ill-mannered infatuations. She could find her peace again.

Though he yearned for her to see him off, it was not unlikely that she did not show to part with him. Now he understood why. Samson continued his conversation without noticing Cullen's halted reaction.

"I swear, that one is deceptively gutsy." He gave a short laugh that echoed against the walls. "She keeps running into trouble with the Templars for the most idiotic reason... the library curfew and Amell don't seem to mix very well."

Cullen was slowly putting together the pieces.

"She's usually up late at night, surrounded by books and notes and neither the First Enchanter nor the Knight-Commander can cite her for it." They turned the corner. "We keep reprimanding her but Amell says it's material she needs to study to 'provide a better education' for her students."

"She... teaches here?" Cullen croaked under his breath.

"That's what I said earlier - weren't you listening?" Samson paused, looking back to Cullen to catch his confusion. "She was promoted to Enchanter and your Tower sent her here to us a few weeks back. Now, we have two people from Kinloch Hold... though I must admit that she's definitely less so Ferelden than you are. She's as sweet as sugar until you find yourself cornered with a lecture on the importance of developing young minds for the future of Kirkwall when you try to drive her out of the library at midnight. Most of us started to draw straws to see who would be the poor bastard to deal with that each night."

Cullen paused, glancing to the ground. The bigger picture had finally come to view. She must have already departed for Kirkwall when he returned to the Tower. Now, with her promotion, Asher was teaching young apprentices to prepare them for their Harrowing. "I didn't know... I was sent away to Greenfell before her promotion."

Samson squinted slightly, caution rising in his voice. "So you two know each other?"

"Yes." His reply was simple. If only the implication was simple. Their relationship was like a flame, seductive to the touch that burnt everything in its path. It was nothing but agonizing pain.

"I'd tell you to waltz on over to greet her but last time I interrupted the lecture, she nearly had my head on a stick." Samson chuckled. "Hell, she's worse than the Chantry Sisters at times!"

Cullen stared back, dumbfounded. It was a sincerely endearing notion. He never imagined just how protective she could be of her students. Then again, considering she took her own studies so seriously, it only made sense that she would instill that same level of pride for learning in her apprentices. The fact that her mere, short stature intimidated an armored Templar was comical to foresee and at the same time, completely expected. Cullen felt a warmth pool in his stomach. The fire was going to catch him.

"I take it you had a thing for her?" Samson broke his musings. His expression must have given it all away.

"There's no thing." He hesitated, regretting the sadness that managed to slip in his voice. His face burned.

"My bad," Samson leaned forward in his direction. "You have a thing for her."

"There's no thing, Samson." Cullen bit his tongue. "There never was a thing."

There couldn't have been a thing, not with the way he treated her. Not with the words he spat at her. She would never have him again, much less give him the time of day. Cullen was prepared for this. Prepared for her rejection. After all, she had already confessed her hatred for him.

"What do you think will happen when you see each other again?" Samson continued to prod.

Cullen sucked in a breath. What would he do? In a perfect world where he did not ruin their lives, he'd sweep her off her feet. He would hold her in his arms. He would explore the softness of her lips, savoring the taste of her sweetness. It did not matter what they were or where they were... in a perfect world where the Circle did not keep them separate, Cullen would never let her go.

Maker, he was doomed. And Samson certainly picked up on his prolonged silence with a sly sneer in response. "You best hurry. I know a few folks who are gearing to vie for her attention. That stern reprimand of hers can set a young man's breeches aflame."

He shot him a glance. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am." Samson beamed, leaning against the wall. "You should see the new recruits. They can't keep their heated gazes in check. And how they pine for her attention. Meanwhile, all she does is just lead in circles with her courtesy. She's got a way with words, that one."

"She does." Cullen smiled to himself. "Asher cares more about everyone than herself and it is not in her nature to be rude to someone in turn."

Samson tilted his head slightly, keeping a close watch on him. "You sure there was never a thing? From the way you longingly stare at the floor, I assume it is not about the fascinating tile work."

"It's..." He carefully searched for an explanation. "Complicated."

"Doesn't seem that complicated to me." Samson shrugged his shoulders, "If there isn't a thing, she'll just turn you away as she does the recruits. You said it yourself. She isn't a vile person."

"Are you promoting fraternization?" Cullen raised an eyebrow. Andraste's flaming sword. He was starting to sound like Greagoir.

"It's not fraternization if you don't get caught." He winked back.

"I'm going to pretend I did not hear you say that." Cullen sighed heavily. "We are worlds apart and never meant to cross those paths."

Samson crinkled his nose. "You've got to let loose and live a little, Knight Captain."

"You're ridiculous."

"I hear I'm good at that." He smirked.

A grouping of apprentices spilled into the hallway. Their chatter drowned out the calm around them as kids rushed past to head for the dinning hall. Cullen stepped aside so that they did not get caught under his feet. He looked over to Samson who had also moved to avoid being trampled. He noticed the large tomes and parchment filled with scribbled notes that they carried. Some continued to chat about their lessons. Cullen caught sight of Samson's grin.

"Looks like she ended her lecture just now." He hummed low under his breath. "I'd wager she won't mind too terribly if you peered into her classroom."

He did not have to convince him twice. Before Samson could add another quick tease, Cullen was already making his way up the stairs. The lecture halls were all located in the west tower, a building overlooking the main courtyard with its back facing the raging sea. All of the apprentices were taught here. Students briskly climbed down, making sure to not bump into him along the way as Cullen skipped a step every other stride. He would be lying if he said he was not eager to see her again and one did not have to read minds to see how uncontrollable that wish was. The enthusiasm in his walk gave everything away. All of his desire.

Cullen wondered what face she would make when she saw him. Anger? Surprise? Fear? Or would she be relieved to see him as he her? The months spent apart was debilitating and just when Cullen was sure he could finally move past it all, he was drawn in merely from the mention of her name. Merely from the chance to see her again, if only for a moment. It was pathetic and gratifying at the same time. No matter how long time tolled, or the endless distance between them, or their unfavorable background of Templar and Mage, there was one thing that remained true against all odds. He was devoted to a fault and madly in love.

Then he heard it, the gentle rhythm of her voice. Across the hallway on top of the stairs, Cullen could make out the faint sound of her conversation. She was instructing something to a student that remained in her classroom. Her back was turned to him as she held open a book before her while pointing to a page. The apprentice followed along, leaning in to take a quick note on his parchment. She did not have to face him. Cullen knew she must have had the most endearing smile across her face and the soothing song of her voice to match. Her hair hugged her jawline, neck exposed beneath and pale skin taunting him. He remained frozen at the top of the stairwell, his eyes intent on her figure.

Finally, the student looked up to notice his presence. Without so much as a hint, he pulled back to gather himself. "I'm sorry to take your time, Enchanter. Thank you for staying behind to share the tome with me."

The polite tone in his voice mimicked her usual studious demeanor.

"Not at all," Her response was just as courteous. "You are welcome to borrow it for the week. If you have any other questions, feel free to stop by my office."

"Thank you." He gave a short bow before walking around her.

Asher turned back to see him off to the stairs. Then the universe crashed.

She was as he remembered. Breathtaking. Delicate. Exquisite. The way she bit her lower lip sparked a jolt to his heart. He was gone in her stare. Without thinking twice, he took a step forward. Straightening his shoulders, Cullen searched for the courage deep within to will his mouth to move. His throat felt dry and his nerves spiraled out of control.

"Please, don't." He barely managed to blurt out as Asher darted for the doorway. She paused, her eyes still fixated on him. "I... I wanted to see you... again. I was hoping we could... talk."

Her hand tightened around the door knob. Asher inhaled slowly as her chest rose. Another bolt of emotions washed over him. "Did you... do you want to step inside?"

That was an unexpected response for him. Cullen forced his thoughts to manifest into sentences. "If you would have me."

Asher slid out of his view and back into the classroom. The door remained open for him. Silently, he followed in, careful to keep his steps gentle as if too afraid to spook her with a loud clatter.

The room inside was illuminated by the warm, yellow light of the setting sun that crept through wide windows. All of the tables were lined up on one side, leaving a large open space in the middle where Cullen noticed burnt parchment remained on the ground. The walls were covered with stacks of piled books that reached his hip. A single table at the front of the room was also covered in endless towers of parchment, tomes, and candles. Cullen stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him. He watched her lean over to pick up the lesson's demonstration, gathering the ruined parchment. Asher collected the sheets into a small box by her table. She glanced back in his direction.

"We're covering primal magic." Asher mumbled, explaining the sight. "This week's lesson is on fire."

"I'm sure the students are enjoying every second of it." He gave a tender smile, keeping his distance by remaining at the door.

"I hope so. I certainly enjoy their company." She nodded.

The quiet reined down upon them once more. Cullen was unsure how to proceed. Should he apologize again? Restate his remorse for his actions? Would the memory of that incident turn her further away from him? Should he avoid the subject altogether and inquire about her promotion to Enchanter? Should he ask her experience with the apprentices? He panicked, fearful of what new stupid statement his brain would conjure next for him to blunder. He did not want to risk any more tears in their relationship... whatever left of it, that is. He was not sure anymore if there was anything to salvage, after all.

And just as before, she continued to amaze him. Placing the box underneath her table, Asher returned her attention to him. Her composure stiffened as she spoke carefully, mindful of the words. "I'm sorry. I have wanted to say that for quite some time now. I'm sorry for speaking such cruel words to you."

He remained baffled. That should be him.

"I let my emotions get the best of me." Asher broke her stare to focus on her hands. Her fingers intertwined as she squeezed tightly. "It was unfair of me. I regret my... behavior."

Again, she was apologizing. Again, she was willing to look beyond his childish act and be the bigger person. Cullen felt the shame sneak up on him. His cheeks burned bright, embarrassment settling in.

"I lied." Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "I was not truthful with myself. I do not harbor any ill feelings for you. If anything, I am guilty for blaming you for something you had no power over. It was hypocritical on my part."

He could not take much more of it. With three long strides, Cullen stepped across the room to stand at her side. Before logic could kick in, he found himself cradling her hands in his. His lips brushed gently against her forehead, inhaling to take in her scent. The sensation made him drunk. Cullen fluttered his eyes closed, leaning himself into her space. This was comfort. This was the peace he longed for as his mind emptied of all stress, worry, and pain. She calmed him with just her existence and his heart craved this tranquility. And as if on cue, she too leaned forward slightly as her head buried into his shoulder. He shuddered from the contact.

Then she spoke words that sent him on a new high.

"I promise," She sighed into his chest. "I promise I will not hide my compassion from you."

Cullen fought to keep his balance as the room spun.

"I think... I think I still love you."

She was the end of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute :)


	14. Distorted Realities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are uncovered.

9:31 Dragon

* * *

 

Those words buried deep into his mind. Her warmth was intoxicating, blurring his thoughts as Cullen struggled to keep stable. The delicate brush of her hair tickled his neck. Asher kept her forehead in place at his shoulder, noting her elevated breathing. His hand contoured around her waist and up against her arm. The steel armor glided smoothly up the fabric until it reached the crook of her neck. Asher let out a quiver, surprised at the cold surface that grazed her pulse. His palm pressed to that beat, fingers curling around the back. She gasped harshly, head tilting back suddenly as her hands rushed to his chest to keep her balance. He tightened his hold at her neck to keep her in place. This damn armor, the only protection he had, was becoming a nuisance.

Cullen looked to see her face. The green of her eyes was brilliant in the light as she stared to his chest, too nervous to look up. He smiled a bit to himself. This was the gentle embarrassment he was used to seeing. Her polite reserve was captivating, keeping him grounded and sane.

Then she turned toward his hand, exposing more of the curve at her neck, and his imagination ignited. Reaching around with his free hand, Cullen scooped her up and onto the table behind. One of the stacks collapsed into a scattered painting of parchment on the floor. Asher looked back at the mess, her hands parting from him to grip the table, pressing her neck into his palm. This was his opportunity to right the mistakes and Cullen made no waste to pass it up. Leaning forward, his lips brushed to her ear, hips parting her legs to close their distance. If he was dizzy before, now Cullen couldn't tell which way was up or down.

He nearly choked on his words, begging for consent that he longed to hear. "May I?"

She wiggled about, returning her attention to him, and oblivious to her own movement. Asher turned back, finally making eye contact with him, nearly a hair strand of a distance between them. There was a curious worry in her expression as her brow yielded in concern. Her lips parted to speak. "What about you?"

Cullen froze. His heart hammered at his rib cage as his fingers trembled at her waist. He's said those words before. Once it came easy to him, willing to let the whole world know, or at least the Tower even if Greagoir was going to skin him for it. The second time, however, there was pain. The hurt had eaten away at him as he expressed his feelings knowing perfectly well that it was going to tear her apart. He feared it now. Cullen was too afraid to ruin her for a second, no, third time. His recklessness sent him to Greenfell and now he was seeing the consequence of his actions. Asher, much to his regret, was willing to shoulder the burden of his fault. It was... wrong. Everything was wrong.

Taking in a deep breath to brace for the following, Cullen leaned in to gently touch his forehead to hers once more. "I will only say those words until you are certain that you love me."

If he had blinked, he would have missed it. For a brief second, Cullen felt a chill run down his spine. The sudden stiffness from Asher was unexpected but she tried to hide it just as quickly as it manifested. Her nose brushed against his cheek, sighing into him as she moved closer, lips dangerously hovering over his own. She hitched.

"I-I do not want to rush your feelings with my own." Cullen desperately continued, closing his eyes to focus on the rapid sensation of her breath. "You admitted that you are still unsure of what you feel for me... and that is... normal."

Asher attempted at a protest, her hand rising to his chest, fingers pressing forward until Cullen caught it, releasing his hold at her neck. He pulled away, regretting the lack of her warmth, as Cullen stepped back to give much needed space between them. She was too delectable for her own good. Sitting prim on the table surface, her cheeks stained in a deep red. Heavy lidded eyes stared back at him as Asher struggled to find even breath. He would push those boundaries if he could. He'd have her spill onto the parchment and lay open everything for him to explore. If he was not careful, he could end it all right then and there.

But no... he could not get distracted again. Asher was too sweet for this indecency. No matter how badly he wanted it, and Maker, he begged for her far too fiercely. But she was still gentle and she needed to preserve that kindness that guided others. Her concern for everyone, whether it was the Mages or Templars alike had to remain chaste.

Then it clicked.

Her rather quick turnaround was certainly unusual but there were still significant steps that were missing in their unorthodox reunion. For starters, Asher did not question why or how Cullen was in Kirkwall. She did not inquire when he arrived to the Circle. Much less, there wasn't even a single mention of the Tower and the disaster that followed. She simply accepted him, allowing for Cullen to step into her territory without any fear. Nothing about this was normal. There was only one explanation for her behavior and it was the worst thing he dared to imagine.

"I want you to take all of the time required for you to sort through this." He spoke slowly, testing his theory, and fearful of her response.

"I have thought it through." Asher retorted briskly.

"No, you haven't." Cullen interrupted, emotions brimming at the surface. Everything was, unfortunately, playing out the way he predicted.

The realization was sinking in.

"You should be angry. Furious, even. What I did... what I said was... unforgivable. If you have the kindness in your heart to forgive me, you are a bigger person than most... bigger than I deserve." Cullen watched her carefully as Asher's eyes glazed over. "But that does not erase the fact that you still need to take the time to heal."

She slid off the table, straightening in her spot. The coolness of her stare steeled, the silence in her voice spoke volumes.

He knew what this was all too well, he experienced it first hand. The nights spent in Greenfell left him alone to his thoughts for far too long. The shame of his actions and the memories of her demise, that head smashing into the ground, was tearing him apart and Cullen knew of only one way of dealing with it. Lyrium. The dosage went up as the thoughts drowned out to allow for the few nights of restful sleep, for a restful life, he wished. But it could last for only so long before the gates were breached and Cullen was flooded with his misery once more. The Chant helped at times. Even the Sisters' preaching alleviated some of that pain. But in the end he had to face himself to move on past this. He knew there was no easy way around it.

What he did was inexcusable. There was outside pressure that pushed him to insanity and his mind exploded. But his biggest mistake wasn't that he unleashed his fear onto Asher that day when the Tower fell to blood magic. No. It was his lack of responsibility and unwillingness to seek help when Greagoir first suggested it. If he had listened, if he had followed orders, then he wouldn't have hurt her for the second time around. He needed to face his suffering and sort through everything to begin his own recovery. That was Greagoir's final attempt at helping him. That was the reason he was sent to Greenfell.

Now, Asher was repeating his mistake. Now, Asher was ingesting the lyrium in her own way.

She hid it all from everyone, choosing to suppress the agony that gnawed at her conscience. Asher was refusing to face her trauma. Like him, she was locking away those thoughts, unwilling to face the truth. She must have fooled everyone, including Greagoir, in the process. She put on an act to convince the others that she was strong enough to overcome the horrors she saw at Kinloch Hold. And the best way to do so is to convince herself that she was not affected by any of it. To put it simply, Asher chose to forget everything.

Her mind was broken.

It was easier to focus on everyone else. It was easier to dull out the pain while distracting herself with the state of others. First it was the mages that she helped while in Kinloch Hold, spending endless nights tending to the wounded and assisting the Senior Enchanters. Then she took on the promotion as a result of that tireless work, traveling across Thedas to help the Circle in Kirkwall adjust to the influx of new mages. Now, she subjected herself to late nights in the library, claiming that her studies were necessary for better serving her students. No one thought twice about any of this. No one could see that she was concealing something harrowing. It was all painfully starting to make sense. Asher never addressed her own demons.

The woman that stood before him was hollow. The strain that threatened to snap was carefully tucked away in the deepest reaches of her mind where she threw away the key to never look back on it. The words she said were purposely crafted solely for him to ease his pain. Why did he not pick up on it right away?

_I'm sorry for speaking such cruel words to you._

That was the first sign. Instead of shock or surprise to see him in Kirkwall after rejecting his advance before he was sent to Greenfell, Asher shifted the blame on her with that statement. Its purpose was to distract him from the crooked state of her mind.

_I regret my behavior._

Now she was mimicking him. Asher stole the words he was supposed to tell her. She stole his guilt.

_It was hypocritical on my part._

She took on his position as the aggressor. She absorbed all of the fault to justify his absence, to explain to herself why he was no longer at her side.

_I will not hide my compassion from you._

When he begged for her forgiveness, this was the plea he used to keep her grounded to him. This was supposed to be the manner in which she opened for him, to allow her innermost self to be presented for him. This was supposed to be the trust she would give to him.

_I think I still love you._

To seal the deal, she had to use the one word he craved to hear from her the most. And yet, even when her mind refused to face her fears, Asher's heart would not allow her to speak those lies. She did not love him. Not anymore. She could not will herself to say that phrase. So instead, Asher had to contort it while still triggering a response from him. And he fell for it. Hard.

Now she was reevaluating. He could see the cogs turn in her mind as she searched for words that would mislead him again. Asher was frightfully trying to distract everyone from her fractured mental state. This was worse than a demon possession. Asher was numbing everything inside to avoid the torment that plagued her soul. Her mask took form.

"So I hear you are now a Knight-Captain?" The pleasant demeanor in her voice was terrifying as Asher walked around to pick up the fallen papers. "You must be so excited to continue rising the ranks in the Order."

Cullen remained silent.

"I remember you mentioned that you became a Templar because you wanted to help people." Her smile was radiant. "You have so much care for others when you want to see the Templars and Mages coexist peacefully. I keep falling for it."

That was the final straw. His world was crumbling. It was as if her mind was regurgitating mismatched events from the past to piece together a made up narrative. The trauma cracked her very being. Cullen could no longer look her way, ashamed of what transpired while he was away. Turning aside, he started to make his way for the door. This was all a mistake. He should have left her alone to her enthusiastic students who might have been able to help her regain some of her old self. He should have avoided her as much as he could instead of listening to Samson and his matchmaking advice. Perhaps then her mind could begin to repair itself with time. What they once shared was never to repeat. The Maker was making that obviously clear. This was too much. Cullen could not and should not face her anymore.

Just as he was about to place his hand on the wood of the door, her voice crept from behind with a sadness he did not expect to hear. The rasp tone in her words grated against his heart. Asher whispered the unthinkable.

"I don't know what to do," She began, "I'm afraid. It's easier this way... but you don't want it. And I'm afraid."

Cullen paused. Looking back, he caught sight of her hunched back. She was turned away from him toward the window, clutching the parchment she had collected from the floor in her arms.

"I don't know what you want to hear. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. It's all muddled and hazy." Asher continued in hushed sorrow. "But... I think there is something that I am certain of right now."

Cullen prayed to Andraste. His control was wearing thin.

Then she turned and his sanity caved. For moment, he could see that familiar affection on her lips that captivated him every time. The orange bask of the setting sunlight danced across her skin and Cullen could not help but fall in love all over again.

She smiled for what seemed to be genuine in contrast to everything he saw. "I'm happy that you are here."

This was it. This was the sign he sought.

Cullen sucked in his breath, the flight of emotions filling his stomach. He needed to take this chance if either of them had any possibilities left in their shared future. Just one more. If he failed again, he vowed to permanently give up on them. It was his turn to be level headed, especially considering she was the one who required guidance now. If he were to do this the right way, there could no longer be any doubtful thoughts of alternative events or easier solutions. Their relationship was never meant to be simple in the first place and if he wanted for it to occur, then it was high time that he came to terms with it. The path that laid before him never appeared more clear than it did then.

He took a daring step forward. "You do not need to create narratives that I want to hear or that you think will make me happy."

Asher flinched.

Cullen took another step despite her reaction. "And it is perfectly alright for you to explore your own feelings without worrying what I might say."

She stumbled back toward the window.

He came closer with one more step, stopping within arm's reach. "If it'll make it easier for you, why don't we just go back to the beginning and start all over?"

Asher wavered. She furrowed her brow as she processed his proposal. "I don't... know if I understand... what you mean?"

"Free yourself from the past to allow for your present to shape the way you want to shape it." Cullen spoke gently, mindful of her confused state. He needed to slowly navigate her beyond this distorted reality that Asher fabricated. "That is why I'm suggesting that we too should let go of that past to make a new present."

If he had to wait, he would do so for an eternity if it meant that Asher could begin her recovery. Cullen would remain vigilant until the end of time. It did not matter how much he pined for her affection or the hunger he harbored for her love. None of that mattered anymore, not when it meant that her wellbeing was on the line. If he could rewrite the past, he'd do so in a heartbeat, but wishful thinking does not take one very far. The scar he etched inside her could not be undone and it was his responsibility to mend it. There was no erasing this but perhaps he could alter their perceptions.

Extending his arm, Cullen smiled tenderly as he held open a palm. "My name is Cullen Rutherford. I have recently been reassigned to Kirkwall from the Ferelden Circle as a newly promoted Knight-Captain. And you are..?"

He awaited for her response patiently, observing any changes. Asher focused on his hand as thoughts rapidly raced, making it evident across her face. She was taking the bait.

She reached out to meet his hand. Their touch was more electric that Cullen could have imagined and his mind scattered as soon as he heard the practiced formality in her voice. "My name is Asher Amell. I too come from the Ferelden Circle, but at the moment I work here as an Enchanter to train young apprentices."

Asher finally looked back to him, her green eyes shining brightly beneath her long lashes. The beam in her smile spread wide.

"It's a pleasure to meet you!"

"Please," He chuckled low, "The pleasure is all mine."

Sometimes he cursed his inexplainable devotion. No person in their right mind would subject themselves to this torture. Maybe he was simply insane? Whatever the reason, the Maker either wanted him to continue suffering for the sins he committed or atone for his wrongdoings by correcting the past. The third explanation, of course, could also imply that Cullen was just too stubborn for his own good. Most likely that was the case. If he needed them both to survive this, to move beyond the events of Kinloch Hold, Cullen had to fight through any obstacle that stood in his path. There were a million possibilities before him with a million outcomes that would be determined by his next action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried guys... I tried to allude and hint but I think my writing is still too weak for that, haha! So... how about them PTSD, huh?


	15. Herbal Remedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen investigates the rumors.

**9:31 Dragon**

* * *

 

Kirkwall was drastically different from what Cullen had imagined. He knew that with the increase of mages, the rumor mill would spring up. Talks of rebellion in low whispers, the concocted brutality of the Knight Commander, and cruel punishment of chained mages was nothing out of the ordinary for Cullen to catch. What he did not anticipate was the animosity between Templars and Mages that was rapidly spreading like wildfire. It was one thing to allow the apprentices for idle gossip in a corner, it was another to throw them in isolation for speaking out of turn.

The worst was when it came down for him to have to sort out the mess and decide a fitting reprimand. It was not unlike his character but Cullen was quickly growing tired of standing between the Templars and Mages, at times in a physical brawl, to figure out who was in the wrong and who in the right. Most times, neither party held the moral high ground. The one antagonizing typically ended up being in a lower position of power and received the more severe consequence. If it was just the Templars misbehaving, Cullen could easily keep that in check. He was running the risk of Templars accusing him of being a mage apologist all over again, but at least Cullen knew how to handle that now. However, with the mages questioning and butting into him at every turn, he did not feel as much sympathy that he once held in Kinloch Hold. As they shuffled in groups down the hallways, hunched over and sneering with quiet words, Cullen could not help but remain suspicious. What if they were plotting another Circle takeover as they did in Ferelden? What if the blood rituals have already begun, distorting the peace and infiltrating their ranks? What if they've been able to make contact with Tevinter for aid?

He wasn't any better than the chattering recruits.

Cullen began losing track of days as everything mixed into one continuous headache. Templars complained about the Mages during his breaks and Mages tattled on Templars during his patrol. The snake was consuming its own tail in a seemingly endless cycle of loathing. His nights were not any calmer either. As Cullen lay to rest on his pillow, the nightmares commenced to take over his sleep. He saw visions of his fallen comrades in the Ferelden Tower, spread across the stone floors as demons lurked through the halls, preying on any survivors. Their crooked teeth grazed against the open skin, tearing away the flesh to reveal the bloodied insides that stained the walls. Then he would back away, his armor echoing to draw their attention as every demon snapped in his direction. The chase began and just as their claws circled around him, Cullen would will himself to wake from his trance. Eyes wide open and staring into the darkness of his room, he fought to catch his breath as his mind focused on the empty ceiling to distract from the nightmare. He noticed his dreams spiraling further into chaos as the pressure in the Kirkwall Circle increased. One night, as he closed his eyes and his consciousness slipped, Cullen jolted back awake minutes later once he realized that he stopped breathing altogether. It was as if his body was forgetting how to properly function. The stress was wearing him dry.

To add to his trouble, Asher pointed out his disorderly state one afternoon. Cullen was in the middle of finishing his patrol when he decided to stop by the west tower. As she continued conducting her classes, he kept a close watch from afar. At first glance, Asher appeared her normal self. Her thirst for knowledge and the enthusiasm for it was evident in her lectures as her students competed to pine for her attention in hopes of learning something more. This was the better decision that Irving and the rest of the Enchanters made. Asher was in her element, inspiring apprentices and being inspired by them when seeing their engaged reactions. Even the Templars started to change heart for her. Just as Samson implied, Cullen observed the new recruits hover around her like bees seeking the nectar of her attention. They attempted at small talk, awkwardly making shy passes and complimenting her "adamant studies". He sheepishly wondered if he was the same back then, an embarrassing ball of insecurity that would flutter around to vie for her time.

But Cullen knew better by now. When everyone turned away, her smiles wavered as she returned to the empty crevasse of her mind. Once the students left for their next class, Asher would fall back into that silence, her thoughts hidden from him and clouded in mystery. Cullen did not want to push her so soon since their last encounter. He was curious and concerned for her wellbeing but he knew too well what could happen if he tried to pry into her heart. She had to come out of that shell all on her own when she was ready. So when he walked by her classroom that day, Cullen did not foresee her sudden interest for him. Asher called out to stop him, pausing from her book that she placed back on the shelf to quickly shuffle up to the door. As if on command, he came to a swift halt and turned on his heel.

She leaned against the doorframe. Tilting her head, Asher held worry in her eyes as she spoke up, "Cullen-! I thought you would never stop by again..."

Cullen tiptoed around his next words, organizing the thoughts that raced in every direction. "I'm sorry. I wasn't sure whether you would have me so soon."

Shaking her head, Asher let loose another crafted smile. "Why do you say that? I'm always happy to see you... I thought I made that clear before."

"That you did." He answered with a small smile of his own. Even if he was not sure whether her expression was genuine, Cullen missed delight of that voice. "I am doing a final sweep of my patrol at the moment. Did you need something?"

He noticed the uneasy tension in her posture. She bit her upper lip. "I just... wanted to invite you for a cup of tea at the dinning hall... whenever you had the time."

Cullen could not control the crease from forming on his forehead in confusion.

Asher picked up on it rather quickly before continuing, "You looked like you needed some quiet time, away from your work for a little bit. Tea helps me calm down... the white herbal blend is especially good for that... I figured I'd ask..."

"I see," He let out a short groan, "I did not realize that I appeared so dreary."

Asher tipped to her other foot. "Not dreary but tremendously tired. I'm... concerned."

"Are you?" Cullen raised an eyebrow. He could not make his disbelief more obvious if he tried, cursing himself for being so careless.

"Yes." She stated simply. "You matter."

He instantly flashed back to the moment when she expressed which people had been important for her. _I care for you_. His thoughts lingered on those memories, recalling the sweet naiveté of her words. He would give anything to lead her away from the world and map out the skin of her back with his lips. Like a butterfly emerging from its slumber, she too would be revealed from out of her robes and greeted by the warmth of his touch. Contouring to his fingers, she would dance to the rhythm of their embrace, sighing into him to release the last restrictions. Would his nights become easier if he held her close in his arms? Would the nightmares finally end from the comfort of her heartbeat? The brush of her hair against his neck? The feel of her breasts tightly pressed to his chest? Andraste, watch over him. Cullen was too hopeless, too weak for her. All it took was a few words and his mind spun out of synch, caught between his desires and wishful thinking.

Before Asher could catch onto his secrets, Cullen decided to take a chance on them. "Thank you. I have an assignment to attend to tomorrow but I would love to join you in the evening for some tea, if you're up for it?"

She beamed from ear to ear, like a child distracted with sweets. "Yes! Let's plan on that!"

And he was back at it again, descending further into his endless fantasies. She did things to him with just her words that should be deemed unlawful. The delicacy of her kindness was exhilarating, drawing him in like honey. Even as she grappled with the aftermath of the Broken Circle, wandering in the darkness to hold onto anything grounded, Asher still had the ability to make life worthwhile. To let him believe that there was still hope to all of this.

On days when it was particularly unbearable to deal with the Mages and Templars, Cullen found himself looking forward to that evening with Asher. Just one more assignment, he would tell himself, and then he could find the time to relax in her company. The rumors that spread among the recruits were now manifesting into tall tales of the Knight-Commander forcing Templars into dark initiation rituals where the weak and undevout were massacred. He rubbed his temple in frustration as Cullen continued on his path from Kirkwall. One of the recruits that had disappeared not too long ago had unexplainably resurfaced. After gathering intel and listening to Ruvena's suggestion to visit the Wounded Coast where Wilmod was last seen to head, Cullen set out to get to the bottom of the ordeal.

The plan was simple enough. If Wilmod refused to spill the truth initially, he would seemingly threaten the recruit into a confession. The worst he assumed would be that Wilmod and the others decided to skip their training to make better use of their time at the Blooming Rose. It was not an unusual routine for some of the Templars as Cullen countlessly caught both the younger and senior charges visiting the brothel to relieve tension. The ladies there certainly had a way with words... among other things.

As he trudged up the hill, the cool wind that escaped the seaside brushed against his face. The scent of seaweed and salt assaulted his senses. Though the clouds remained grey, the storm never breached the sky. Cullen was fascinated by the struggle between letting go and the control of the weather here. The scenery spoke to him, drawing parallels to the constant turmoil in his mind. Whether it was his discipline to hold back from snapping at the recruits or the desire to release his affection upon the woman he craved each night, Cullen was the unyielding storm that raged in silence. If he could, he fantasized of bringing Asher out here. Away from the rigid rules of the Chantry, Cullen dreamed of stealing a moment with her at the waters. Even if it was just to allow the crashing waves to wash away the stress for an evening, to isolate themselves from the tension, Cullen would do anything to catch that fleeting peace. With her.

He suddenly noticed the kindling of a flame near the curved rock outcrop. A young man sat near the fire, his back turned to Cullen as he wrinkled something in his hands. The stature certainly matched Wilmod's but he needed to be sure. Cullen stepped forward, announcing himself as he crushed the sticks beneath his feet. Wilmod flinched, zipping around until their gaze met. He drew his hand to his sword but remained still. Cullen slid his own to the haft of his blade in response.

"Wilmod." He spoke with a serious stern. "We've been looking for you."

"Ser!" Wilmod straightened his stance. "Knight-Captain!"

Cullen took another step. "You did not report to your post. Explain yourself, Templar."

Wilmod shuffled in his spot, glancing about anywhere but to him. If he wanted to look any more suspicious, the man would be better off with a wooden sign hanging from his neck with the name of his crime written on it, Cullen thought to himself. This was going to be simple. If he intimidated the recruit enough, he'd have his way in no time.

"Why do you not answer?" Cullen hissed under his breath. "Your Knight-Captain gave you an order."

Again, silence. Wilmod stepped back as he leaned to his side. His head hung low. He continued to open and close his mouth, as if he wanted to answer but the thought prevented him from speaking.

Cullen grasped the young man's shoulders, his clutch tight against the armor, hoping to elicit some sort of sound from him. "Andraste be my witness, Wilmod! I will have the truth from you, now!"

"Mercy, ser!" Wilmod pleaded, shrinking from him, "Mercy!"

At least the recruit knew how to speak, Cullen cursed under his breath. Pulling him closer, he took to the final threat. "Were it that easy..."

"Don't hit me!" The man whined as Cullen pushed him away. Cowering at the ground, Wilmod held up both hands in defense.

Drawing his sword, Cullen stepped back to prepare his stance. "I will know where you're going and I will know it now!"

It was then that he noticed they were no longer alone. From the corner of his eye, Cullen spotted a small gathering of people approach the camp. Leading the group was a man who carried himself in his torso, steadfast forward with broadened shoulders to assert his size. His unruly dark hair flickered in every direction with the passing breeze. The streak of red blood across his face was jarring, throwing Cullen off as he struggled to keep his composure at the barbaric sight. But it was more so the glint of the vibrant green in his eyes that drew him in. This astounding familiarity paired with a wild anger made Cullen stop in his tracks.

"My, what a sight..." The man spoke with a calm rhythm that did not match the fury in his eyes. "I thought Templars only treated Mages this badly."

Cullen scanned his surroundings. The situation was quickly tipping out of his favor.

"Good to see you branching out." There was a hint of laughter in his voice.

"Hawke, don't." A slender, shorter man from behind him spoke up. He walked around to stand at his shoulder. "That's the Knight-Captain."

"This is Templar business, stranger." Cullen replied, trying to keep calm over his control. Depending on which way this scenario would go, at worse, he was looking at four outsiders and Wilmod against him.

It was then that a sinister growl of laughter erupted from Wilmod. His eyes were wild, drunk with delirium as he raised his arms far above his head. A light glowed from within him as his form took a different shape. Hunched over with long claws dragging at the ground, Wilmod changed into a shade as more demons emerged from the ground. If Cullen thought the situation could not turn for the worst any more, he had guessed incorrectly.

Drawing his sword and raising his shield, Cullen let out a short prayer to Andraste as he braced himself for the assault. All of his questions would have to be answered later, no matter how absurd and impossible it appeared. But if Cullen allowed his thoughts to wander now, his concentration would be compromised.

From the corner of his eye he noticed the intruders take stance as well. At least two warriors and a mage and... he was not sure where the dwarf had disappeared. Sparks of lightning and fireballs ignited the battlefield as Cullen ducked to avoid the magic from bouncing off his head. He maneuvered around one of the demons, using it as shield from an oncoming thunderous strike. Swinging his blade, he cut the monster clean to finish the blow.

He wondered whether his blood was truly aflame. Cullen could no longer register any other sound as his ears rang loud. His vision focused on the demons that emerged from the ground, slouching and slurring from side to side. The scene was all too familiar, resembling the terror that crawled about the Ferelden Circle. Their claws slashed as they lunged forward, nearly missing his shoulder while Cullen kept his balance. But unlike the Tower, these demons were being dispatched rather quickly. His unintentional allies were skilled as they focused on each enemy one at a time to efficiently take over the battle. Cullen worked to block the remaining demons from breaking their formation before they came to his aid.

As the last shrill of the fallen shade disappeared into the sandy ground, Cullen rose to straighten himself as he caught his breath. He knew that Wilmod may have been involved in something sinister yet he could not imagine just how far he had fallen. Thoughts raced as Cullen weighed all of the theories. Was it possible for Templars to be completely possessed by demons and if so, was this a willing transaction or were mages involved? He looked back to the man who was identified as 'Hawke'. His broadsword swung behind his back as Hawke gave a wide grin to his teammates. "Well that could have gone south!"

"Why am I not surprised to see this play out any other way with you?" The dwarf had let out a hearty laugh in response.

Cullen placed his weapons away, carefully observing this group of individuals. They did not appear to pose any threat and he had a better chance bargaining with them than Wilmod, it seemed. Taking a hesitant step forward, Cullen extended his hand in their direction. "I am Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford. Thank you for your assistance back there."

Hawke returned his attention to him, the gleam in his eyes sending a shiver down his spine. He caught Cullen's hand in his own with an overwhelming grip as he shook it. "Sure thing! Now if word of this doesn't travel to Aveline and the City Guard, I'd much appreciate it. She's already scolded me once for meddling in Templar business, I wouldn't want her descending down on my front door later today. Oh! Nice to meet you, by the way. My name is Jaron Hawke."

He recognized that name. Cullen searched his mind on the various files that plagued his desk, recalling where he had seen his name come up. Before he could continue, Jaron had spoke up again. "So, not to cut to the chase so quickly, but we were hoping to get some answers from Wilmod before he... well... turned all demon-like... I was trying to find another recruit, a friend of Wilmod's. Do you know where Keran is? His sister is looking for him."

Cullen had seen that name in his report as well. "He also disappeared. Keran and Wilmod were last seen at the Blooming Rose but I had no luck interrogating the... uh... ladies there."

Jaron looked to his side as the dwarf made contact in a silent nod.

"I doubt they would know anything of magic or demons though." Cullen trailed off, noting the quiet signals Jaron and his companions were exchanging.

Giving him another wide grin, Jaron replied. "If it's the brothel, I certainly wouldn't mind investigating for the Order."

Cullen paused, weighing his options. The women that he encountered at the Blooming Rose had refused to interact with him in fear of being turned in for serving Templars. Perhaps if a third party had approached the brothel, they may uncover some answers. Going with his gut despite the logic that advised otherwise with these strangers, Cullen answered. "The Order would be truly grateful if you did. It is rather... challenging... for us to approach the Blooming Rose and any information you find would be of great use for this investigation."

"Just promise not a peep to the Guards and we're set." Jaron let out a hoarse laugh.

"Understood. We never met today." Cullen nodded as he took a step back. "Please report back to the Gallows when you find something. There will be a reward for this."

He decided to keep walking toward Kirkwall without risking to look back. One of his new unintentional allies was a mage, though he was still unsure which. The dwarf was out of the question and Jaron could not possibly cast spells with a sword. All that was left were the other two men that kept their distance from Cullen's sight. It would have been inappropriate to question them after accepting their generous offer to help with the case. Perhaps he could observe the group better once they returned to the Gallows.

The name suddenly came to him.

Jaron Hawke, along with his sister and mother, came to Kirkwall during the Blight to escape the Darkspawn, as the report had read. He was drawing unbridled attention from the Templars after his nighttime vigilante work on the cartels became a local buzz. The blood streak that followed him around was impossible to ignore but it was another associated name that caught Cullen's attention. His mother was originally from Kirkwall. The forest green hue of his eyes was haunting as Cullen finally recognized the resemblance. He may have been a Hawke, but the Amell in him was clearly showing. Even his brown hair matched hers as if they were cut from the same tree. Of course they were. This man and Asher were related after all.

Cullen reached the Gallows steps that evening as he slouched through the hallways. The exhaustion was beginning to set in after the prolonged day and his muscles were aching from the travel. He noticed the few recruits scurry out of his way as they pretended to take interest in their mundane patrols. Cullen did not have the energy to scold their uniform mistakes tonight, turning the corner toward the chambers. The plan for the rest of the night was simple. Collapse at his desk, read more reports, update his logs, and then hopefully pass out with the usual amount of demons prowling about his dreams. Simple. Routine.

"You're back."

The hairs on his neck stood up. Cullen ceased his breathing as he paused in his step. It was nightfall. The promise. Shit. Slowly, he turned around to face those eyes for a second time. Asher had already left the library for the day, clutching the rolls of parchment at her chest and a heavy tome in the other hand. He wondered which poor soul had to listen to the debate tonight.

"Asher..." He stumbled on his thoughts. Now it was his turn to sweat under her gaze. "I'm sorry... I..."

"You're injured." She cut him off before he could identify what injury she had spotted before him. "Follow me."

Cullen complied without another word. Did he even have the courage to go against her when she resorted to her stern lecturer demeanor? He knew better by now, taking after her students who just as quickly learned what it meant to fight against her. Was she always like this? When did he miss this transition? The dimmed hallways were starting to blur in his vision as Cullen followed Asher to her classroom. Steps muddled together. Stones muted into one cohesive color. He swore he was becoming delusional. It had to be the fatigue setting in.

"Sit at that desk," Asher motioned to one of the seats as they stepped through her doorway, rather, he stumbled behind. She set down her research papers as she reached to grab a black box from the shelf. "Why didn't you go to the infirmary straight away when you arrived?"

He lowered himself to the bench with unusual difficulty. Everything swirled. Cullen pulled at his armored gloves, placing them onto the table as the metal resonated against the surface. His eyes focused back to Asher as the room continued to spin. "I didn't realize that I was..."

Asher noticed his slur. Grabbing a towel along the way, she crossed the room in two steps to catch his shoulder as he caught himself. "You're bleeding from the forehead!"

Cullen struggled to keep upright. He drew up a hand to touch his face only to spot a smear of blood on his fingertips. Shit.

She took the towel to his forehead as Asher worked on cleaning the wound. Her hand reached back to the box to retrieve some herbs that she soaked in the bowl of water he could not recall when had manifested on the table. Most of the room had become too hazy to register but the worry in her voice was ringing clear for him while she continued addressing his disoriented state. "-what did you hit your head on?"

He hated seeing her fret so much over him. She worked diligently over the wound, her stare remaining intent on him with a focus that made Cullen flush. "-were you in combat then?"

If this was the adrenaline that kept him going until he reached Kirkwall from the Wounded Coast, now Cullen was finding it nearly impossible to keep his eyes open. He wished he could remain with her for the evening, indulging in the warmth of her hands, the attention she presented. The paperwork did not matter anymore. Neither did his report, nor the investigation. Cullen breathed in heavily, noticing the strain in his lungs. He was too tired to function for much longer.

In an unplanned instance, his eyes snapped open to grip her wrist that worked at his cheek. Cullen fought to keep his concentration, eyes running amok, as he examined Asher intently.

"You're not using your magic." His voice was surprisingly solid.

Asher attempted to pull away from his hold unsuccessfully. Her statement hinted hesitation. "I don't need magic to patch up a cut."

Cullen leaned in, inching closer as she broke eye contact. "Stop. Don't amend yourself just because I am a Templar."

"I told you," She huffed slightly, her annoyance growing, "That's not the case."

"It's alright for your to use your magic." Cullen moved his thumb to rest on her palm. The pulse of her wrist hammered against his fingers. "I trust your magic... only yours."

She glanced back his way, the shock that played across her face made his gut drop. He eased his grip allowing Asher to slide her hand away. If she had been keeping her nature in check when around him... Cullen did not want to test that thought.

"Close your eyes."

"What?" Cullen stared at her dumbfounded, his thoughts breaking trance.

"Just close your eyes," Asher repeated.

There was a gentle tone to her words. It made Cullen uneasy, unsure whether she was faking her emotions again to calm him. He could only wish that her feelings were genuine despite the worry that filled his mind.

"You're tired. Relax."

Maker, her voice was too sweet to resist. He did as instructed, giving into the heavy press of his lids. Cullen focused on the sensation of her fingertips brushing over his skin. The herbs stung slightly at the wound opening but her caress kept him occupied. His thoughts swam in incoherent sentences, various images from the day mixed into darkness. He was sure he was dozing off.

Then something soft pressed to his brow and Cullen did not dare to open his eyes. He was almost certain and yet he feared to imagine it. The lips he craved to have as his own were now grazing over his temple. If he wanted to, if he was willing to abandon his better judgement and cast aside the trust he promised her, Cullen would grab hold and push into without any shame.

Her breath hitched at his skin, noting his heartbeat drowning out all sounds. Cullen struggled to force his hands from lifting to her waist. Instead, he kept them clasped tight at his thighs, fingers digging into the knuckles. He stiffened to keep his control in check. He had to. Cullen could not risk their possibilities on his impulses. He refused to repeat his mistakes.

"You should be good for now," She barely let out a passing whisper, "Do take better care of yourself from now."

The warmth of her presence retracted. The clink of her boots echoed in the room until the silence of the night consumed everything but his uneven breath. He opened his eyes to the empty classroom, supplies still scattered on the table beside him. This was by far better than any herbal tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NaNoWriMo is under way! Woohoo!


	16. Clockwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher encounters Meredith.

**9:31 Dragon**

* * *

The rain gently washed over the window as Asher sat on the floor of her quarters that morning, wrapped in a layer of blanket by the sill. Most of the Circle was still sound asleep when she crept to the dinning hall to pick up a cup of tea. She held the mug in her hands now as it warmed her core from the changing season's chill. There were no lectures scheduled. If she cared to, Asher could have opted to sleep in that morning but the nagging tick in the back of her mind kept her up these days. Like clockwork, she woke up around the same time regardless what day of the week it was. Like clockwork, she gathered herself in the morning to start her studies in the library for a few hours before heading for breakfast. Like clockwork, she kept herself occupied with her students, the lessons, and more seemingly endless research until it felt that her eyes would ooze out of her skull. Like clockwork.

Last night was supposed to be the same. Read into the dead of the night, wait for a Templar to chase her out of the library, and pass out in her bed with another scroll splayed over her chest. She remembered the promise she made with Cullen the day prior but after seeing his prolonged absence for most of the afternoon, Asher assumed they would reschedule. Or he would simply forget and never bring it up again. Hopefully. When she suggested an evening with herbal tea, Asher cursed herself for being too polite. She instantly regretted the words that escaped her mouth. So when he agreed without a hint of hesitation, she spiraled into a panicked frenzy. Her mind mixed words for the rest of the day, stumbling through her lectures as her students patiently, and with immense confusion, waited for her to properly speak again.

Then he arrived back in Kirkwall that evening. He passed her without a glance in her direction and if she wanted to, she could have slipped by without any contact. But then she saw that stain of red that slid down his cheek and her logic flew out the window. Before her brain could register what had occurred, Asher was leading him up to her classroom. Then fear set in. During the entire time she spent assisting Wynne in the aftermath of the Circle invasion, she tended to patients with her magic. Most of the people that made their way to her corner were fellow Mages with a few Templars sprinkled every once in a while. Maybe back then she could have resorted to her natural abilities but not that night. Not with him. The task was simple enough. The wound was shallow and easy to treat. But like an idiot she allowed his words to get to her again... like clockwork.

Now there was turmoil bubbling within her. Logic kept screaming one thing while the heart kept thrashing against that wall, open and bleeding. All the while the tick kept throbbing on the inside of her brain, like droplets of rain water hitting a lake that threatened to spill over any minute. Asher pressed her forehead to the cool surface of the window as she observed the waves below crash into the gravel shore. The sensation was calming, numbing out the buzzing thoughts for a fleeting moment. The excessive abundance of work kept her occupied from this inner riot while quiet days just amplified the volume of her nightmares. If she worked herself to the bone, the body collapsed and her mind would not have any remaining energy to plague her peace. That was the routine. Like clockwork.

She then decided to break that cycle. And for what? Without giving it a second thought, she was kissing his forehead. The gesture was innocent enough. A sign of compassion. That damn compassion again, rearing itself and ruining her routine. She had promised herself to keep from him if only to upkeep formalities. This was supposed to be for whatever sanity she had left. But none of it went the way she envisioned. The touch of his skin was mesmerizing. Warmth filled her chest and she swore the room lit on fire. The scent of sandalwood mixed with the saltwater and she fell back into her old habits again, drawn into his existence. The calm she craved for months as she searched for it in her work, the endless nights at the library, the students that occupied her day, none of it compared to the quiet that drowned out her thoughts when she was with him.

Asher closed her eyes, focusing on the pattern of her breath. She was pathetic and the tick kept digging deeper.

She was unsure how long she had remained by the window but the ache in her backside convinced Asher to cease mopping on the floor. The noise from outside her door was starting to magnify while she folded her blanket. Most likely the library would be filled with apprentices. On any normal day she would find her classroom door open for any passing student who sought assistance but today was different. There was a note delivered from the First Enchanter late last evening that requested her presence. She wondered if this was going to be another conversation on her uncanny rule breaking from Enchanter Orsino or a reprimand from the Knight-Commander directly. Either way, Asher could not find the will within to care much anymore.

Her footsteps were nearly inaudible against the stone floor as she glided down the hall. Apprentices and Enchanters alike whizzed by while the murmur of their conversations engulfed the quiet atmosphere. Some chatted on their preparation for the Harrowing, excitement and anxiety evident in their voice. Asher recalled herself in their position while in Ferelden, completely indulged and oblivious to the bigger picture. Now she was noticing larger players acting behind the scenes. It was not unusual for Enchanters to crowd in their ideological groupings. If the dominant fraternity faction of Kinloch Hold were the Aequitarians, then Kirkwall Circle was quickly proving its favoritism for the Libertarians. Though Asher knew better that not all Libertarians were a flavor of Uldred, she had to constantly keep her bias in check as she listened to the exaggerated discussions of her coworkers that were a hair away from propaganda.

It was worse when they turned their questions to her, hoping to hear an agreeing point of view from a comrade as Asher maneuvered the conversation around without stating a direct opinion. The Enchanters here were rapidly wearing her down and she found herself alienating from their social circles. It did not take long for them to catch on her aversion as they stopped inviting her to their outings. Asher wondered whether it was simply her personality that kept most of her peers at bay. Everything was starting to play out as it did in Ferelden where she remained in the company of her studies rather than engage with other Mages. While there was not anyone that equated to Dagna, her apprentices were slowly filling in that void.

Asher turned the corner for the First Enchanter's office. His door was slightly ajar but no sound came from within. Asher stepped up to the entrance, pausing to listen in on any hint of his presence to no avail. She gave a gentle knock that echoed unexpectedly under her knuckles.

"Come in." His voice was a hollow chirp.

She leaned in to push open the door. Enchanter Orsino was sitting at his desk, working on a letter as his hand skidded across the parchment with an delicate arch. Asher pulled the door shut behind her, keeping her eye on his movement while he finished the sentence. He glanced up, his eyes always filled with raw emotion. Today, however, it appeared to be fatigue. Everyone was growing tired as of late.

"Welcome!" He attempted to push through his exhausted state as a smile spread wide. "It's quite a gloomy day, isn't it? I thought I might use the opportunity to catch up on some paperwork."

"It certainly is, quite gloomy, sir." Asher parroted carefully. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, yes!" Orsino rose from his spot, gathering the quill and ink. He walked around the table. "I was hoping you would consider a proposition of mine. I wanted to have a chat with you."

Asher remained stiff.

"Please help yourself to the couch over there." He motioned to the corner as he leaned against the edge of his desk, arms folding at his chest. "Indulge me for a bit, would you?"

She gave a small nod and headed for the seat. Asher placed her hands at her knees, tightly clasped and back straight as she anticipated this proposal. Since her arrival in Kirkwall, aside from the brief encounters in the hallway and quick introduction to the Circle, this was the first time Asher found herself alone with the First Enchanter. She listened closely to the remarks that other Mages made of him. Most were fairly positive. Asher learned about his unusual rise to position after the former First Enchanter Maceron had passed away without a successor. It was Orsino's care for other Mages that stood out the most to Asher. The hushed whispers eventually spilled a story of his youth when he had lost a dear friend to suicide. The thought was horrifying but it certainly explained his patience with the apprentices and his encouragement of speaking out about injustices in the Circle.

"I'm curious to hear how you have been since starting your position with us." His smile was soft.

Asher wavered slightly. She did not want to appear ungrateful for the opportunity in Kirkwall. Even if she was not getting along well with the other Enchanters, she did feel that she thrived best as an instructor. Even better than when she was cooped up in the library back in Kinloch Hold, if truth be told. Asher took a cautious breath before continuing, "In all honesty, I am very happy here. I thoroughly enjoy working with the apprentices. They challenge my pool of knowledge every day and I'm always learning something new in the process."

Orsino kept silent.

She decided to test the waters. "I know that the other Enchanters and I may not be very close... but it is more so the students that I prefer to engaging with."

"That's an... interesting take on the matter." He tilted his head to the side. "I must admit, I have heard complaints from some of the Senior Enchanters who have expressed their concerns over your lack of cohesion with the community here. But if I am to speak from my own observation of the matter, I believe not everyone needs to assimilate to a clique in order to find fulfillment in this Circle."

There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice that Asher caught on. She perked up slightly. "If I may speak freely myself, sir... I am just not interested in joining a fraternity that imposes their own opinion on others. A former Enchanter at Kinloch Hold thought the same and we ended up with a horde of demons at our doorstep as a result."

It was then that a short laugh erupted from him as Orsino leaned forward. His eyes were sharp now, intent with attention. "Irving warned me that you were too independent for your own good. I should have expected nothing else."

Asher bit her tongue. She shouldn't have said anything, after all.

"Oh no, please don't think that I am upset with your statement." It was as if Orsino had read her mind. His smile remained genuine. "In fact, I prefer to hear the truth, no matter how blunt it may be, over recited and practiced rhetoric. If people don't speak their minds, we wouldn't have the unique perspectives necessary to propose new futures for our Circle."

"But you would still prefer that I join a fraternity?" Asher glanced to the rug by his desk.

"Only if you wish to join." Orsino replied as his voice lowered, "I have no shame in admitting that I belong to one myself, but I do not require my studies to follow in my footsteps. That decision is solely up to you."

She could feel her heart accelerating as she processed his statement. Looking up from her spot, Asher could not stop her mouth from dropping. She did not dare to ask the question.

"Just as it is," He caught onto her shock. Orsino stepped from his table to straighten his pose. "I also leave the decision up to you whether you wish to become my study. A little bird shared with me your ambition to succeed your First Enchanter back in Ferelden. Perhaps you can achieve that goal in a different Circle, should you want to remain in Kirkwall."

Asher let out a frown. "I take it one of my students is a little bird of yours?"

"I do not need to resort to spying on my Enchanters when their students speak freely for them." A chuckle escaped him. "You inspire your apprentices. It is a talent few other Enchanters possess. That may also be why so many of them are keen on having you join their fraternity."

He paused.

"But before they had the chance to sweep you up, I figured I'd make the offer to take you under my wing so that you may continue your studies under proper guidance."

"You flatter me, sir." She spoke up, still careful with her thoughts. "I was hoping to specialize in a restoration field but it seems that there are very few experts in Kirkwall. Primal and Force magic appears to be the most popular studies here."

"And you believe you are not suited for either?" Orsino raised an eyebrow.

"No, sir." Asher shrunk slightly. "I do not see myself practicing offensive magic. If possible, I want to avoid physical conflict. It makes more sense to me that I apply my skills in a different field."

"What if you are placed in a position where your life is at stake?" His face grew bleak. "Or the lives of the people you care?"

The room twisted.

Memories of the Broken Circle flooded her mind. Asher could not stop the image of Enchanter Eleanor from playing across her thoughts. The terror in her voice still rang clear in her ears. And then, all life disappearing as her magic extinguished in a snap of fingers. The opening in her head oozed blood onto the stone floor, soaking into the crevasses as she lay on her stomach, head turned with hollow eyes that burned into Asher.

The tick punctured through.

Jumping to her feet, Asher scrambled to find balance as her eyes scattering in every direction except to the First Enchanter. She attempted to make it to the doorway before her arm was caught and yanked back abruptly. Adrenaline kicked in. Giving her hand a powerful swing, she shoved her body away. Her head whipped around to meet Orsino's horrified expression as he took a step in her direction. Then, the sparks that ignited in her vision manifested into reality. Lightning erupted as it struck in an elegant curve between them, crackling at the floor.

"First Enchanter!" Asher barely kept her voice from a shrill. Holding up her arms, she put up a wall around her. "I-I'm so sorry, sir! I did not mean to-! I-!"

The door behind her slammed open. Before Asher could turn around to see who it was, her body began to lose control. The room spun, colors muddling into white as she collapsed to her knees. Her fingers buried harshly into the hard surface, breath rising, anger simmering. She knew what this was, she had seen it performed only once to understand the consequence. The wall she cast around her grew brighter as she struggled to keep her command.

"Knight-Commander!" Orsino's voice echoed distantly in her mind. "I beg you, lower your guard!"

It did not take long for Asher to feel the pressure lift from her shoulders. Giving into the moment of reprieve, she released her own chant on the wall as it dissipated into thin air. Her breathing was ragged as Asher kneeled to the ground to catch herself. Her head pressed firmly to the cold stone. From the side, her eyes caught sight of the boots belonging to Knight-Commander Meredith that walked around her crouched form. Her vision trailed up, glaring at the sight above her.

"Enchanter Amell." She towered over with her hand at the hilt of her sword, "Explain yourself this instant."

Asher then felt a soft palm glide over her shoulder. It was unclear to Asher whether the fury in the First Enchanter's voice was directed at her or Meredith as he spoke. "Knight-Commander, the Enchanter was practicing with me. Your impulsive concern was of not necessary to disable one of my mages."

Meredith twitched slightly, taking a step back as her grip released to her sword. Her gaze remained cold. She turned to the door, proceeding to storm out. "Next time have your mages 'practice' in a designated lecture hall, First Enchanter."

"Knight-Commander." The words were just as chilling, "Please send one of your Templars to assist us. I'm afraid you may have utilized too much of your Smite. I will require help escorting Enchanter Amell back to her quarters."

His response was a low grunt before the footsteps echoed into a silence behind Asher. She willed herself forward, leaning on her palms to push off the ground. Her hair splayed across her face, wild and unruly. Orsino wrapped his hand around her arm, stabilizing her along the way. A migraine began to creep in as it throbbed against the outline of her eye sockets. Asher stumbled slightly, her vision blurring. She felt fingers slip past her neck as Orsino forced her to look straight. The green of his eyes fixated.

"Asher, can you hear me?"

"Y-yeah," She attempted to back up without success as his grip tightened. "I'm f-fine, really."

"You were brilliant," He barely breathed out that sent a chill down her back, "Your protective spell was strong enough to withstand Meredith's Smite for a bit. Do you realize how much talent you hold? And you still question whether you would be a poor Force Mage?"

He could not be serious right now. Asher did not know whether her face gave away her emotion as she attempted to hide the rage that was boiling at the brim. The Knight-Commander just assaulted her, nearly disrupting her magic completely, and Orsino could only focus on her three seconds of resistance that for some reason meant she was skilled enough to become his study? Before Asher could summon a snarky reply that she would come to regret, he looked up, breaking their stare. The surprise on his expression threw her for a loop.

"What happened to her?"

Asher froze. Of all people, she cursed herself under her breath. She looked to her right to catch sight of the familiar honey brown that set her heart still. "Cu-! Knight-Captain... it's fi-..."

She blinked once but the white splotches from the corner of the room just kept expanding. The tick repeated, growing louder by the second as Asher struggled to identify what was upright anymore. In the distance she thought she heard her name but the dull pain of her head distracted all thought. The only certainty was the heat that cradled her shoulders, spreading all around and taking over her senses. White light magnified as Asher closed her eyes to the blinding surroundings. The scent of sandalwood lulled her to sleep. Like clockwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy NaNoWriMo, everyone! :) I'm actually having a lot of fun trying to describe Asher's mental state. It certainly has been quite difficult but the challenge is fascinating nonetheless.


	17. Delicious Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher wakes from the aftermath of the previous day.

**9:31 Dragon**

* * *

The sky had already set as the night crept through her window, the moon illuminating a ray across the floor. Asher blinked through the darkness. Her head was still aching as she sat up to fist her eyes to numb the pain. Thinking back on it, she wondered whether she was either simply lucky or a glutton for punishment after the encounter with the Knight-Commander. The overwhelming pressure may have faded but the pain from her Smite continued to ghost her chest. For a split second it felt as if Asher was drowning, her breath robbed and lungs squeezed to the point where she swore her insides imploded. After the pressure dwindled and Asher regained some control, her body finally caved in. The last thing she recalled seeing was the contour of his jawline before fading to white.

A soft rustle at the corner of her room sent her heart to jump to her throat. Asher glanced in the direction of the sound, her eyes adjusting to the environment. A chair had been pulled against the wall as Cullen leaned back, his head resting on his chest. His breath was quiet, barely audible, as he dozed off.

Asher inched to the edge of her bed, sliding her legs down as her bare soles touched the cold surface of the stone floor. The creak of the mattress startled Cullen in his sleep. He adjusted but refused to wake. Asher took that as a signal to continue moving, slowly rising to her feet. No matter how much she racked her brain, nothing came to her after Orsino’s office visit. She wondered how much time had passed. How long had she been out cold? The door to her room was closed shut and she could not make out anything outside. Nightfall was upon them, it seemed.

She took a step toward the window. Her vision skewed slightly, still weak from before, as she grabbed onto the wall. Asher focused on the gently rocking waves. The candlelight from Kirkwall flicked brightly in the distance as ash scattered in the passing wind. If one were to squint, it appeared as if snow was falling onto the city of chains. She missed the cold gust that the Frostback Mountains would send over the Hinterlands in the wintertime. As the seasons changed, the howls of wind from the mountain peaks would serenade to the land below. Here, however, it was the Waking Sea that hummed the tune as the water crushed against the sandy shores. It was different music but not unpleasant.

“You’re up.”

Asher flinched. She turned to look over her shoulder, her hands still gripping onto the windowsill to keep balance. His form was hidden within the shadows but she could tell that he too adjusted to stand. As Cullen stepped forward, the moonlight carefully slithered up his arm. The steel of his armor bounced the ray. She noticed that his pauldrons had been removed, gone form his shoulders.

“Are you feeling better?” Cullen spoke up again.

She gave a short nod even though the room continued to spin. “I’m recovering.”

He paused. “You shouldn’t be up so soon then. You need the rest.”

Asher could not stop the frown from forming. “It’ll be alright. I’ve been in bed for far too long. I need the exercise.”

“Stubborn as ever.” He chuckled quietly under his breath. “Though I’d rather you take it easy. I heard that Meredith did a number on you.”

“I’m still breathing.” Asher replied, her fingers grinding into the wood. “It’ll be alright.”

She found herself saying those words too many times as of late, like a mantra that escaped without restraint. Maybe if she said it enough, she might start to believe it.

Asher turned back to the window, shoulders slouching. “Sorry.”

The stutter in his whisper did not go unnoticed. “For what?”

“You had to bring me back here. Sorry.” She repeated, shrugging. “I shouldn’t bother people with my inefficiency.”

“Don’t apologize.”

The silence between them prolonged. If she allowed herself to detach from her immediate surroundings and pay less attention to the real world, the tick banged louder. She did not want to be reminded of it, the nagging feeling of hollow emptiness. This was no longer sadness. She did not have the energy for it anymore. This was something different and horrifically inexpressive. It just sat there, continuously announcing its presence.

Just as Asher was about to speak up again to ask for Cullen to depart, she caught sight of the hands that he placed on both sides at the windowsill. Ungloved fingers nearly brushing hers as his heat radiated from behind, her back warming to the absent touch. His breath danced at the crook of her neck, sending a surge of jitters through her veins. Asher leaned forward to what little space was left between her and the glass. Her back arched into a straight line. She did not dare to look his way.

“The moon is bright tonight.” His voice was a low rumble from within. “I imagine it will be full by tomorrow.”

Asher ceased breathing. Her heart pounded violently, drowning out all logic as she remained still, too terrified to move. It was his warmth that she felt, after all. It had to be. Even if her mind resented it, and it certainly did not let this feeling go unattended, in the end it was still his touch that managed to soothe her distress. One wrong turn and everything could disappear. One wrong word and she'd chase him away again. One wrong mistake and the tick would return.

“I sometimes wish I could see the mountains again. I miss them.”

She decided to risk it. Wriggling around, Asher turned to the room, her eyes meeting the pattern drawn on his armor. The sword pointed down with etching of sun rays on both sides, a remnant symbol of the Chantry. She reached up with shaking fingers to trace the outline, understanding full well what this insignia represented. Her life was no longer hers as the Circle dictated where she was to go, what she was to do, and now, when she was to finish existing. She was a rat, cornered and caught.

Orsino’s proposal was not a free decision either. Kirkwall aligned her in that choice. The primary school of magic here was combative as mages clawed for their survival. No one asked what you wanted to study; one was simply assigned the task. If she did not agree to his proposition, Asher would be left trailing behind as her peers continued to climb that ladder, gaining new knowledge to set them further apart. To put the final nail in that coffin, her dream of succeeding First Enchanter Irving was also robbed. She may have been a Ferelden mage but Kirkwall had sunk in its deep claws. The only saving grace she held now was neatly tucked under her mattress, away from prying eyes.

Asher pressed her palm to the steel. She took in a strained gasp, pushing forward. Cullen followed suit, taking the step back without a word or question. The worry in his expression was addictive and the attention he gave was tempting. Asher broke their contact, looking to her bed. Then fear suddenly took over. What if with all of his extensive training, Cullen could sense her phylactery? The thought was absurd, considering neither Revitt nor any of the other Templars ever picked up on it while she hid the vial in her shawl, but maybe he was different? Maybe he had already seen through her façade, aware of all of her secrets? Is that why he remained at her side all this time? Just to scout for that opportunity to end it all? Her thoughts ignited in every which direction, halting in her spot. This was paranoia.

“Asher.” His hands slipped through her hair, motioning her to look up his way. She attempted to pull away without success. Her eyes finally met his for the first time.

There was pain. Why was there pain?

“Tell me what’s on your mind.” His request came with unexpected kindness.

“It’s nothing.” She regretted the harshness that coated her words.

Cullen gave a gentle squeeze at her scalp as a reprimand. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Sorry.”

They stood there for a bit, unsure for how long, before Cullen continued. “You never told me what happened.”

Asher bit her tongue.

“Knight-Commander Meredith said you were ‘practicing’ with the First Enchanter. She is not satisfied with that answer, it seems.” He looked down, a hint of annoyance in his words. “Is that really what went down?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“What were you practicing?”

There was no response. Magic, she thought. The answer could not be more simple. _Just lie and say that you were starting your specialization study_. Even if it were not the truth then, she would begin the Force Magic training soon, regardless. How else would she explain it? That she reminisced to fallen Mages at Kinloch Hold while going berserk with her powers? Even the thought of it was ridiculous to consider.

Cullen sighed heavily, letting the grip around her neck loose. “Can you at least promise me that you’ll be more careful in the future? I don’t want to come to find out that you burned down the First Enchanter's office.”

A forgotten smile sneaked in. “You’re starting to sound like him.”

His eyes widened. “What did you say?”

“The Knight Commander.” Asher replied slowly, her pace increasing by the minute. “He also did not like it when I caused him trouble.”

“I can’t exactly say that I was a model Templar under him either.” Distracted by his thoughts, Cullen glanced away with his own smile forming at the corner.

Asher tilted her head to the side. “Why? I thought you were a favorite of his.”

He gave a sheepish laugh. “I guess I was just too distracted. Sometimes it interfered with my work and Greagoir never missed the opportunity to scold me for that. If I allowed myself the same here, I’m afraid Meredith might actually skin me alive.”

“What distracted you?” She pressed on.

Cullen looked her way. The quiet filled in and Asher swore she could hear his heart strike with each passing second. He took one step away, allowing the distance between them to build. The lack of warmth suddenly made her uncomfortable, realizing the stalking tick was once again knocking at the back of her mind.

He barely let out a whisper. “Your fascination with your studies.”

Asher could feel her brow furrow. He did not allow her to ask the question.

“Your desire to strive for being the best in your field.”

She twitched.

“Your unyielding concern for the betterment of the Circle.”

Cullen took another step toward the door.

“You’re my distraction.”

Asher froze. He scratched his nose, refusing to look her way. In the dark she could still see the flush of red spread across his cheeks.

“I guess it’s my turn to apologize.” Cullen leaned to one foot, body twisting for the exit. “You should get some more sleep. Dawn will be upon us in a few hours.”

“Am I a distraction here?” The words were dry in her mouth as she rushed to croak out the statement.

He did not face her. The edge of his shoulders tensed. Cullen reached out for the door, his fingers inches from the surface.

“Yes.”

Her gut plummeted. Something deep within screamed and she launched forward. Asher pushed the door to remain in place before he had the chance to pull at it. Keeping with the rhythm of the seamless transition, her forearm pressed against his chest, leading him to the side, away from his escape. If thoughts plagued her mind before, now Asher was void of all reason. The room spun out of control. Cullen stumbled over his feet in the process, tripping onto the mattress. He gripped onto the nearby wall to stabilize the fall. The white of his eyes gleamed in the night, a mixture of confusion and shock played across his face. Mouth ajar, he caught his breath to speak up. “Wh-!”

It was soft. Softer than what she imagined.

Asher angled in, her lips barely brushing against his. The heat intensified as her heart rattled at her ribcage. Her pulse roared, threatening to cease function. Her hands roamed up to his neck, keeping a firm, open press to his vein. This was wrong, her mind had screeched. But nothing ever felt so natural as this did. Her thoughts emptied. The ticking ceased. And somewhere within, Asher could sense her soul ripping apart.

She nearly jumped when his hand trailed her waist. The desperation in his touch pressed through the fabric of her robes as he tugged her to him. Asher broke their connection to find her center again. The agony of breathing set in, suffocating with the rush of air. Then his hands slid further down and Asher found herself toppling forward. She spilled across his chest, her palms flat against the armor. They sat at the wall on the bed, without uttering a single word, as he kept an intent stare and a tight hold on the back of her thighs. His rugged breath heaved below. The thrashing of his heart synchronized.

Her senses dulled, the dizziness spiraling rapidly as she gave into this drunken sensation. He was the wine that warmed everything within and tossed all logic aside. The tight ball of nerves that prickled at the touch was quickly unwinding as Asher revealed her emotions raw for him. Without giving it a second thought, she leaned in again to place hungry kisses at the exposed skin of his neck. And the hiss that escaped him was maddening.

“Sw-sweet Maker!” Cullen gasped, his grip tightening around her legs. “Holy sh-! _Asher_!”

This armor was proving to be a problem. She contoured to him, bending to fill in the empty space between them. The shower of open-mouth kisses continued a route for his jaw, grazing the tip of his ear to elicit another shudder. Clutching sound, Cullen thrust forward as their hips collided into a desperate grind. His throat reverberated with a sob that sent chills down her spine. Throwing his head back, the scalp crashed against the wall but that did not stop him from clawing at her waist, grunts deafening her better judgement. It was intoxicating to listen to the sounds that escaped his chest and more so, Asher was growing obsessed with seeing what else could make him react as such.

Giving his ear a gentle nip, she whispered harshly. "Am I still a distraction?"

Something snapped. His hands flew to the back of her neck and before Asher could react, his tongue slipped in. They went back and forth, power swinging like a pendulum as Asher struggled to keep up. But it was his gentle approach that threw her off. There was no violence in his action. No anger. Any move she made, he complimented with delicate precision. This kiss was messier, teeth grazing with a warning to what this all could escalate into if they were not careful. And yet it felt immensely organic. As if this was always meant to be.

She sighed, releasing all tension and giving into this new sensation. Cullen groaned deeper as the sweetness of his lips assaulted her reasoning. Asher responded back, albeit clumsily, as she bit down on that wandering tongue. Holding it in place to catch herself, Asher pulled away, releasing in the process. She sat straight, back curved elegantly to expose the chest as she huffed for air. Cullen slid his hands down, fingers scratching at her neck before grabbing the flat of her shoulder blades to keep her from falling to the bed.

The gruff sound in his voice made her dizzy. "You're still my little, delicious distraction."

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply to bask in the tight pressure around her heart. There was an unusual possessiveness that guided her to new heights as Asher rode that exhilarating wave. She never imagined that the feeling of being wanted by someone so much would be so thrilling. And terrifying. If she chose to give in and allow herself to be swept up, wouldn't that mean she'd be in the same position as she was within the Circle? Trapped and bound, all freedom stolen, Asher would not be able to escape from that kind of commitment. Was he even making a proposition? But this itch within her heart was too seductive to begin with. Could she even say 'no' at this point? Should she?

Cullen pressed at the knot on her back, prompting Asher to wiggle about. His whisper brought her back from her thoughts. "You look incredibly stunning right now."

Asher's neck snapped in his direction. Her eyes wide, a heated blush painted across the skin of her cheeks. She leaned in to regain her balance, ducking her head from his gaze. Noting her sudden embarrassment, Cullen tugged her in closer. He buried his face into her hair, a low hum vibrating through him. His shoulders curved in as he pulled her into an encompassing hug.

"You're hiding from me again." She could hear the grin. "I want to devour you."

Exhaling into his shoulder, Asher trembled at the image conjured in her mind. She barely found the energy to murmur a response. "You're an idiot."

His laugh was a lullaby that eased her nerves. "If only you'll have me, I'd gladly be your idiot."

The room melted to nothing. Asher relaxed into him as Cullen tenderly rubbed her hipbone, showering her forehead with soft pecks. The hollow that ate at her insides was slowly diminishing. Not even the tick seemed to bother her now as Asher flitted back and forth between sleep and consciousness. The first signs of dawn hinted across her window, staining the glass a warm orange hue as the moonlight retreated into the shadows. She stared at the sight with heavy lidded eyes, her cheek pressed firm to the armor of his chest. The thrashing beat had also slowed down to a hymn, singing his content. It was as if the world outside no longer mattered. She did not care for the cruelty of the Templars. Or the nagging nature of the Mages. Neither Meredith nor Orsino bothered her thoughts. The students that she adored also appeared to be a distant dream. Kinloch Hold was so far away. First Enchanter Irving and Wynne faded from the picture. Dagna drifted off. Even the Knight Commander was a forgotten memory. The only one that mattered held her shattered pieces together. The edges stung and split while he remained in spite of the pain, mending the wound. Silencing that tick.

"Will you?" His question cut through the wall, barrier crumbling under his touch.

Asher could feel her strength leaving her arms, hands falling to her side. Sleep threatened to take over any moment. Nuzzling closer, Asher inhaled the scent of sandalwood. There were no more shrill objections from her mind. The empty hole was filling with a warmth, like honey, flowing thick to cover the jarring cut. It stopped bleeding, if only temporarily, but the calm was heaven-sent. She wanted to cry from the relief. She considered praying to gods that she never believed in if it meant that this peace would remain forever.

The answer was clear.

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I caved. 50k words in and we (finally) have some action. But she still hasn't admitted love yet!


	18. Tranquility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher decides on Orsino's proposal.

**9:31 Dragon**

* * *

The stack of papers across the table did not appear to diminish as the hour passed. Asher placed aside a reviewed parchment to the 'finished' pile as she reached out to grab another one. The library was exceptionally quiet that day. The candles flicked on the occasion to cast shadows that skimmed across the nearby bookshelves. They leaned against the weight of heavy tomes like a back arching from menial labor. Asher eyed the compendium that lay to the side, wishing she could finish the immediate task quickly before diving into this title.

Most of the mages were outside today to enjoy the break in bleak weather as of late when the sun came out for the afternoon. The chilling winter was quickly rolling over the Free Marches and the days grew shorter. Asher preferred this time of the year, opting to wrap up in warm clothes to greet the cold. Snuggling in the corner of the library with another book while watching the snow drift down to the land was something she grew accustomed to while in Kinloch Hold. As the winter months slowly approached, she waited eagerly to return to those private moments.

In the present, however, there were research papers that required grading. She had been distracted most of the morning. The lectures were excruciating as Asher forgot to hit certain talking points or stumbled over terminology. Her students were kind, in contrast, putting up with her blunders as she set another stack of used parchment on fire for demonstration. Her concentration was wearing thin as Asher willed her brain to focus on anything but the talented hands that consumed her thoughts. The blush that sneaked its way up her neck was starting to become evident while her students pointed out her rather flustered state of affairs, concerned over her well being. She cursed herself for being too weak to imagination. This wasn't how a dignified Enchanter had ought to carry themselves.

This befuddling relationship that they developed certainly possessed a number of perks. Asher never once questioned what her role was in all of this. They never proclaimed to be lovers and neither spoke of romantic feelings. There was exclusivity on both ends without the fear of either approaching a third party. The conditions seemed crisp and simple. And yet, everything was overtly complicated.

Never mind that they belonged to two completely different worlds or that their relationship was never meant to blossom beyond this physical step, both Asher and Cullen had a higher calling. While he focused on climbing up the ranks in the Order, serving as Knight-Commander Meredith's second-in-command, Asher was set on her path to dedicated research in her field. Orsino made it abundantly clear that her return to Ferelden would not be easily attainable, if not impossible.

The growing tension between Mages and Templars in Kirkwall was seeping between the cracks of their engagement, tearing the two apart and poisoning the balance. Every day someone new was taking sides. Whether they belonged to the Circle, the Order, Kirkwall's Hightown elite society, the Lowtown common folk, or even Darktown's mercenaries, everyone had an opinion. The political turmoil between the Viscount and the Qunari refugee situation in Kirkwall only threatened the delicate string that could cut any moment, unleashing a revolution.

Some predicted that this was only the beginning, citing worse conditions expected in the future. Some were under the impression that the Mage and Templar conflicts could not stoop any lower. Some whispered of rebellion. Asher rubbed her temples. The last thing she wanted to do was get mixed up in Kirkwall's politics. She may have been a native but everything about this country was foreign for her. The people spoke with suspicion, gluttonous for favors and trades in return for information. There was a code of loyalty that, if broken, would handle any traitors. But that resulted in most folks preferring their long-held connections rather than relying on better judgment to trust a person according to their merit. An outsider struggled to form those bonds, jumping through loops to earn their place. Ferelden was a cakewalk in comparison.

Among this medley of deception, the only person capable of providing familiar tranquility was the same man who churned her core. On the rare days when she managed to steal a glance his way among the halls, Asher could not help but notice the eerie calm that washed over her. He kept busy for the most part, tending to new recruits and barking the trainees in check all the while fetching errands for the Knight-Commander like a lapdog. The stress of his work was cutting into his complexion, dark circles plaguing his skin and a permanent streak of a frown slowly forming on his forehead. The other mages scowled at his strict demeanor. He approached the Enchanters as if he was going into battle, guard up and questioning every motive. When others pointed out the harshness in his manner, Cullen brushed off their accusations, citing the power Mages held over freewill. The irony, honestly.

The stoic expression he granted to others melted away every time their eyes met. Sometimes his stature would soften, years of diligent training cast aside as he scurried in his spot, words babbling incoherently and tripping over his feet. Sometimes the effect would be subtler, his nose scrunching as he bit his lower lip, peering anywhere but to her. This pattern would repeat for days turning into weeks. He kept his distance from her in public, too afraid of showing favoritism or letting onto the inappropriate nature of their relationship. As a Mage, Asher was not supposed to engage in romantic endeavors. There were many Mages and Templars alike that broke this rule, seeking solace in each other's company or the attention from the Blooming Rose. For Asher, however, she did not perceive it as rule breaking.

Romantic engagements suggested that two people loved one another, sharing devotion beyond the Chantry's overburden. That was not the case in their situation. The stolen glances and shy blushes did not mean they were in love. When Asher looked at him, when she accepted Cullen completely for who he was, the package including his rash responses, the guilty until proven innocent mentality, his pursuit of working until his body broke down, the stern approach to equality, and his stubbornly unyielding ideals, there was one resolute conclusion.

He made the tick stop ticking.

With just a second of his consideration, the pressure eased at her heart, drifting away as Asher found the opportunity to breathe again. Whenever they started a conversation, the bleakness didn’t stand a chance at creeping into her thoughts. Like clouds dissipating into the thick atmosphere, his words were radiating, breaking through the gray to warm her wellbeing. She was drawn to it. Ask her this month’s prior, Asher would most likely find herself crouched in a corner if only to disappear into the shadows to avoid his presence. The prickle he once fashioned was gone and his exterior invited her like a moth to flame. She hungered for his attention, if only for a few passing seconds. Asher craved to feel that calm. She needed to be sane again. Something changed. He changed.

She refused to consider that this was love but she could not deny that she thought his lips tantalizing. On those singular days when she found herself dragged against the wall of her classroom as Cullen shut her door in the late of nights, her heart nearly collapsed in her ribcage. Short stubble scratched at her skin as he tiled to adapt to her shape. He was exceptionally vocal, short grunts caught between their lips as Cullen pressed her to the stone surface. Then he'd pull away, head flush against the wall in prayer as he breathed heavy in her ear. The slow grind of his hips distracted most logical thought. Cullen begged for her forgiveness, apologizing for being 'too rough' and 'absurdly carnal' in between his guttural growls. He'd have a few 'Maker's' and 'Andraste's' slip sporadically as his hands roamed to grip her waist into a grating dance.

One evening he pinned her over her table, back turned to him, while she had been reorganizing the files. His fingers brushed aside the short strands of hair at her neck to revel in the heat of her skin. With a gentle grip at her throat, Cullen whispered words that drove her over the edge.

_Little dove, don't wiggle around so much._

Her back curved. That evoked another groan.

 _Shit._ He had leaned in. _Not so fast. Not yet_.

This was not love. It couldn't be. Asher sat back in her seat, looking over the pile of paperwork. Her thoughts stuttered, skipping a few words every other sentence for the rest of the week. He was a distraction, keeping her mind occupied on things that were not her students' education. Not that she minded. If it calmed the tick, Asher was willing to try anything and he seemed agreeable enough to their contract. The only remaining dilemma was his feelings. If there were any left.

_I will only say those words until you are certain that you love me._

His voice was lyrical.

"Enchanter Amell!"

Her eyes snapped open. Asher twisted in the direction of the yell as she caught sight of an apprentice stumbling into the library. Her hair was frazzled, chest heaving with exhaustion as she leaned against the doorway. The craze on her face made Asher shiver. This was Paora, a student from her evening lectures that showed promise with primal disciplines, a quiet girl that sat near the windows. Just the other week she had successfully ignited her classmate's textbook, albeit accidentally but with the necessary vigor to control the flame. The madness in her eyes threw everything off. Asher rose to her feet, carefully placing the quill to the side. Paora launched forward, rushing at her. It was then that Asher noticed the tears that were spilling across her cheeks.

"What happened?" Her thoughts rushed in every direction. "Who is it?"

Paora grasped onto her forearm, collapsing on the ground. Her knees hit the floor with a harsh smack, head hung low. "Please help!"

Asher knelt across from the young girl. She was barely fourteen, not even three years older than when Asher found herself within the Circle. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, strands wet from tears that refused to pause. Paora's breathing was dangerously quick as Asher reached around to pull her into an embrace. Most of her students were close to her in age and every one of them resembled a younger sibling that Asher never had. The instinct to protect these kids was deeply rooted.

"Take in a deep breath." She mumbled in her ear. "You need to calm down, you're hyperventilating."

Paora shook her head. "It’s not me, it's Thomas."

Asher could feel her heart sinking. "What about Thomas? Where is he?"

"He is in the classroom right now. We were supposed to meet to review last week's assignment."

She straightened, guiding Paora along with her to a nearby seat. Asher grabbed her cup of cooled tea that had been sitting across the desk, offering it to the girl. "Drink some. It'll help with the nerves while you wait here. I'll go see Thomas."

Paora took the mug with shaking fingers and a quiet nod.

There was no time to rationally think this through. Asher stepped around the table, leaving all of her belongings behind as she bolted for the door. The passing walls smudged into one color. Asher rushed past a group of chattering Enchanters near the balcony that threw nasty glares while shuffling out of the way. The Templars looked to her in a stupor, unsure how to respond at her mad dash. The sunlight blinded Asher as she stepped into the courtyard, her eyes squinting to adjust. The stairwell to her classroom was around the corner, steps muddling while she struggled to keep balance from toppling over.

The door to her room was open wide when Asher arrived. She paused at the entryway, spotting Thomas sitting at one of the desks, back hunched as he worked on something over his parchment. He was one of her top students. Diligent and dedicated, Thomas always inquired more than any of the other apprentices. His enthusiasm was heartwarming and far too familiar. Asher took one step forward, her palm still clutching to the wooden doorframe. Her heart would not be still.

"Thomas." She could sense the fear in the back of her throat. "We don't start the lecture until this evening. Did you need help with anything?"

His hand ceased scribbling. Setting down the quill, Thomas slowly turned around. And then it felt as if all of the air instantly escaped the room.

Neatly carved into his skin, the sun mark donned his forehead. With a crown that was never meant to grace him, Thomas stared at Asher through an empty gaze, his eyes void of any life. Asher froze in place.

“Good afternoon, Enchanter Amell.” He spoke with a haunting calm.

“Thomas.” She repeated with the same quiet. “Why?”

Confusion played across his expression, his head tilting to the side. “I’m not following, Enchanter.”

She could feel the anger seeping through her veins. “Why? Why did they..? Why are you..? You can’t be made Tranquil.”

“Oh.” Thomas looked down to the floor. “The Knight-Commander said I was practicing too much.”

She could not muster a reply. Averting his view, Asher turned back toward the hallway. Her mind was spiraling out of control as her vision twisted. Another Mage was stolen their freedom. Another Mage suppressed and robbed their individuality. Everything around her blurred into a continuous frenzy. Asher skipped over the steps, nearly jumping through the flights. She was a storm, brewing and threatening to unleash as she marched to Orsino’s office. Various scenarios played out in her head.

She wanted to kill Meredith. And Orsino. She wanted to grab someone by the back of their head and send them hurling into a wall, skull colliding into the stone. She never wished to get involved with this Templar and Mage business. It was not her place. In an ideal world, Asher wanted to keep her distance from that dispute, allowing those in higher position of power to sort it through. Sometimes she dreamed that they all would just end each other, saving everyone else the burden of putting up with their politics.

Now she understood how childish it was for her to think back then that she would not find herself tangled in this mess. While she once envied the Tranquil who represented the perfect, neutral ground, the reality of it was the injustice of treating these Mages as second-class citizens by people who stomped over them. Thomas was too good a student to meet that fate; he was too talented an apprentice to have his dreams taken from him.

The rage rattled inside, bursting at the seams as Asher turned the corner. Then something yanked her arm, pulling tight, causing her to trip backwards. Asher’s neck snapped instantly, ready to sock whomever it was in the gut.

“Asher.” His voice resonated in her ears. She struggled to focus on what was in front of her, anger shaking every fiber of her being. Cullen held onto her arms, guiding her into a secluded corner near the window. “Please tell me what is going on?”

She tried to pull away but found her back pressed to the wall as Cullen walked around to close off her exit. He leaned in. The concern in his eyes was unbearable to withstand, the softness of his gaze soothing to her manic state.

Asher looked away, finally noticing the tears. She was absolutely powerless. The thought that she could not protect her own students was eating away at her soul, carving a wound so deep that no amount of practiced stoicism could hide this pain. She loved her apprentices. She loved seeing their curiosity ignited with the most basic incantations and their desire to mimic the practice. She loved their hunger for knowledge. It was unfair to see them suffer for her mistakes. Or worse, be the recipient of a dispute that they had no say in.

She flinched when Cullen reached around to place her face in his hands. Forcing her to look his way, he wiped at some of the fallen tears with his thumb. The skin stung, feeling raw and irritated. Her energy was quickly disappearing, overpowered with his serene demeanor that silenced the opposition. Closing her eyes, she allowed the sensation to wash over.

It wasn’t just the tick that he managed to calm; now, with just his touch, she found herself regaining sanity. Her mind drifted into nothingness as they stood in that corner of the hall for a few more moments. She worked to stabilize her breathing. The light flickered behind her eyelids, splotches of color dancing all around.

When she opened her eyes again, the setting sun hid underneath the horizon as the dusk peeked through the halls. Cullen stared back at her, patiently waiting for a reply, his brow scrunched slightly. She placed her hands at his, nudging them down. The confusion set in.

“I have to go.” She barely breathed out the statement. In the distance, echoes of students bounced against the hallway. “I need to speak with the First Enchanter before my lecture begins.”

Cullen refused to budge. “Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

The mask was steadily returning as something foreign formed at the base of her heart. “I just had a moment of clarity. It’s nothing for you to worry over.”

He frowned. “I’ll be the one to decide what I should and should not worry over. Tell me why were you crying?”

Asher pressed her palms to the steel armor. A chill ran through her from the contact. “I was simply overwhelmed for a moment. Now I feel better. Now I know what I need to do.”

“What does that have to do with Orsino?” Cullen stubbornly pushed against her.

“I need to let him know where I stand on his proposition.” She gave another hard shove, eyes glaring.

“What proposition?”

Asher stood her ground firm, her stare intent on him. The anger that fueled her was morphing into something viler. This was no longer fury. “The First Enchanter asked that I become his study. He wants to take me under his wing to specialize in Force Magic.”

Cullen stiffened. “What are you planning to do?”

“I’m going to accept his offer.” Her answer was too simple. Asher took a step around him, slipping through his grasp. “I need to tell him that I want to begin my lessons, starting tomorrow.”

If she wanted to protect her students, Asher needed to find the power necessary to gain leverage. Whether this was a decision made by the Knight-Commander or a byproduct of her disputes with the First Enchanter, Asher would never allow anyone to lay another finger on her apprentices. She would never see her students fall victim to a crossfire between the Mages and Templars. Until the day she stopped breathing, Asher would make sure that no one under her would be made Tranquil again.

This unfamiliar feeling had one name. This was revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're finally done with 9:31!


	19. Immoral Infatuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen brings Bethany to the Circle. A subordinate suspects him.

**9:32 Dragon**

* * *

The chilling fury in his stare would make any recruit shirk into a corner. If it had been anyone else, perhaps Bethany Hawke could have averted her conscription to the Circle. Cullen stood at her side in Gamlen Amell’s home with a decree to take in a Mage to the Gallows. Jaron just returned from his expedition when he glared him down from the doorway. The similarity of his green eyes was haunting. Cullen thanked the Maker for being familiar with that angered expression, otherwise he too may have ducked tail and sprinted back to the Knight-Commander. And then she would have had his head.

He sometimes wondered if this was a hereditary trait - the ability to make Templars pee their trousers after angering a member of the Amell clan. Asher was certainly talented at it and Jaron, though a Hawke, was doing an excellent job at making his mother’s family proud. Cullen drew in a deep breath to prepare himself for the argument he anticipated.

“We have orders to take in Mistress Hawke to the Gallows on accounts of failure to document a Mage within Kirkwall premises.” He spoke with practiced intonation, broadening his chest to add the point.

“Over my dead body.” Jaron hissed between his teeth. “My sister will remain here. I suggest you go back to your lady boss and inform her that you were unable to find _Mistress Hawke_ or else you might find yourself and your Templars splayed bloody across the city streets.”

“Jaron,” Bethany let out a whisper, “Don’t.”

“You dare speak that way to the Knight Captain?” The Templar at Cullen’s side piped up, hands forming into tight clasped fists at his sword. This was Loraine Ophel, a newly promoted Templar recruit from Orlais that was reassigned to Kirkwall on behalf of Meredith’s request. His anger was just as quick as the rapier he wielded during their training sessions.

Cullen held out a cautious hand at his side. Before he could make a statement to calm the situation, Bethany took a step forward, placing herself between him and her brother. With her back turned to Cullen, he did not need to see to know that she was on the verge of tears.

“Jaron,” She began again as her voice shook, “It’ll be alright. We can’t have you end up in jail over something stupid. I need you to take care of mother now.”

His expression eased for a moment before returning back to Cullen with ice in his eyes. “If you or your little friends lay a single finger on her…”

“Serah Hawke,” Cullen lowered his voice. “Jaron. I will personally see to it that no harm will come to your sister should she observe our rules. The Templar Order has not forgotten all of the help you and your family have provided to us within the last year. Though it is our duty to remain equally neutral with every Mage, I will make the promise on my behalf.”

He could sense the appalled stare from Loraine from the corner of his eye who now lowered his stature. This seemed to appeal Jaron, if merely for a moment, as he walked around the Templars toward his mother. The woman collapsed to the ground, her head in a low bow as she wept to the floor. Cullen heard in passing that there was another Hawke sibling who did not make the trip to Kirkwall when Jaron and his family fled from Lothering. It must have been excruciating for a mother to watch one child die before her while another now slipped through her fingers to an institution they spent their entire lives fleeing. The thought was miserable to consider.

But the law was law. Even born a Mage, it was still their responsibility to turn Bethany over to proper authorities for the safety of everyone around them. The fact that the Hawke family placed others in danger in association with an apostate was not justifiable. Cullen was also aware of the presence of other Mages that Jaron had been acquainted with but he decided today was not the best day to pursue that debate.

Loraine took the lead. He followed Bethany out the door while her mother let out a prolonged cry from behind. The late afternoon sun blinded the group as they stepped out into the streets of Lowtown. The scent of decaying fish and booze was nauseating for most but nothing compared to the piles of shit that graced the walls of Darktown. Cullen trailed behind the group, allowing Loraine the opportunity to practice his newly acquired authority. Bethany never looked his way, keeping her head down and eyes glazed over in thought. She did not inherit the green hue from her mother.

Their walk to the Gallows has been equated as the path to a guillotine for apostates. Cullen found himself escorting the Mages to the Circle as of late. The growing influx of refugees within Kirkwall did not alleviate the existing overpopulation concern within the Gallows. Nearby Circles continued to send their seasoned Enchanters for assistance but even they were starting to experience problems from lack of lecture space and supplies needed to properly train the apprentices.

He heard this complaint on many occasion from Asher within the last few months. During the nights he found her cooped up in her classroom behind the desk that threatened to collapse from the overabundance of papers on many occasions. She spent a lot of time grading assignments or coming up with additional study material. The lack of sleep was starting to weigh in as the dark circles that plagued her skin.

She was married to her work, as was he, intent on providing exceptional preparation for her students who anticipated their Harrowing while studying up on Force Magic for her own intellectual progression. Asher kept stacks of notes on her research that toppled his staff reports. He did not expect her to take to Force Magic as quickly as she did, much to the First Enchanter’s surprise as well. She practiced into the dead of the night, sometimes opting to avoid sleep just to perfect another spell. The door to her room was lit under the crevasse almost every evening as Asher read yet another tome. She was drawing concern from many.

There were times when he joined her under the pretense of ‘checking up’ on her late night endeavors. He would find her curled up in blankets, sitting at the window with a cup of warm tea and parchment spread across the floor. Always busy. She would not notice him approaching, too enraptured in the text. It was a maddening sight as Cullen fought the urge to gain her attention with aggressive affection. All he wanted to do sometimes was yank aside those books and make a mess out of her on the rug; chest heaving and flush with embarrassment as he studied her with the same detailed focus that she gave her text.

But no matter how far they’ve progressed in this secrecy, it was still too early to allow those daydreams to manifest into reality. It took everything in his willpower to stop himself from pounding into her the first night when those hips rolled against him in the most alluring dance imaginable. She made it clear that she wanted him, at least physically, and the last thing Cullen wanted to do was ruin what little hope they had of making this blossom into a relationship. And yet, as weeks turned into a year, Asher had not voiced a single word of her feelings for him. Her lips addressed him with hungry enthusiasm but not once did she make it known what thoughts filled her mind. He wondered whether he influenced her reasoning as much as she did his. Did she dream of him the same way he did of her on the nights they were not in each other’s company? Did she pine for him on days they were apart, waiting for the moment they reunited after days of tending to their respective duties? Did it pain her to see him depart from the Gallows, unsure how long he would be away from her reach?

This was all wishful thinking on his part though. Something had clicked in her mind long after the events of Kinloch Hold. She was significantly more reserved as Asher kept to herself for most of the day. Unless it was her students who inquired in the lessons, she did not associate with anyone else within the Circle. On the days she spent working with Orsino, Asher spoke up only to continue her own studies. And when she did, there was a bitter taste of defiance in her voice. Asher quipped with the Templars and Enchanters alike, without a shred of fear of who might hear her heated exchange. Like a snake that prepped to snap, her strikes were quick and agile on the prey before slithering back into the confines of her classroom. Something broke. The innocent glee of her personality shattered, leaving behind a husk of an empty person. Asher was not the same as he remembered.

They arrived at the Gallows later that afternoon. Cullen motioned to Loraine and the others to dismiss while he guided Bethany toward the First Enchanter’s office. The sun began to set, basking the fortress in an orange light that glimmered against the surrounding sea. He cleared his throat to attempt at small talk.

“The First Enchanter will orientate you to the Circle. Most likely you will be assigned to an Enchanter during your transition process.” Cullen scratched the back of his neck. “I will need to report to my superior. Once you’ve settled in, I’ll be sure to stop by and see how you’re doing.”

Bethany looked his way. The skin under her eyes was rubbed fresh from crying. She bit her lip, withholding a reply.

As they entered the hallway, Cullen reached out to Orsino’s door on the left. He continued, “Life in the Circle isn’t this prison as you may have envisioned. I hope you’ll begin to reconsider that point of view soon.”

This time she threw him the infamous Amell glare. Now he was certain this anger must have run in the family. He knocked on the door before pushing it open without waiting for a signal. Orsino’s voice invited her in as Cullen pulled back to make his leave. He was getting tired of this routine of locating and delivering apostates to the First Enchanter. There were far too many Mages sitting in one place for his liking and he was growing concerned for the Templars’ ability to keep everything in order. Some of his subordinates felt that they were supplying an armada for the First Enchanter by taking in so many refugees and apostates. Though the gossip sounded absurd, Cullen could not help but wonder if this could result in untimely consequences for Kirkwall as bystanders in this Templar and Mage situation. If he was not tactful, every day felt like he was walking on needles, which threatened to puncture and tear through the thin veil of Kirkwall’s peace.

As Cullen turned the corner to head for the courtyard, he spotted Loraine standing by the doorway, leaning into the frame. He raised his hand to wave at him, inviting a conversation. “Knight Captain.”

Cullen approached him slowly with caution in each step. “You don’t have to submit a report. I’ll make sure the Knight-Commander receives the update.”

“It’s not that, sir.” Loraine stepped aside, opening up his path. “I was hoping I could have a moment with you to discuss something that has come to my attention.”

Despite his rashness, Cullen still found Loraine to be a model Templar initiative. He cared for his duties as much as he did, going above and beyond to complete all of his assignments in the best fashion possible. Cullen appreciated that sort of enthusiasm, a reminder that despite what the Mages may hark on about, there were still Templars out there who believed in serving for the betterment of Kirkwall’s people.

“Do you mind if we take this to the dinning hall?” Cullen let loose a small smile. “I’m a bit starved and I hear they’re serving duck tonight.”

“Certainly, sir.” Loraine gave a nod, following him.

As the recruits were adjusting to their new environment, Cullen began noticing a handful of Templars that were taking better initiative than most. These were the men and women he preferred to keep company, rarely having to worry about something going awry.

They stepped into the dinning hall, the candles already lit to greet the evening. Dinner was under way as people shuffled to fill up their plate. Cullen and Loraine joined in on the line. From the peripheral, Cullen spotted a familiar face, eyes low and focusing on grabbing her meal. She would most likely opt to return to the lecture hall for her dinner, away from unwanted attention, as usual. The strain in her expression from endless days of studying was evident. She resembled a ghost that glided in between the crowd that no one paid mind to.

“If you would permit me to speak freely, sir.” Loraine announced, drawing Cullen back to the present. “It is becoming rather concerning.”

Cullen scooped up his plate as they walked toward the seats. He looked back to Loraine, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What is becoming concerning?”

Loraine sat down across from him. His eyes roamed the table, too nervous to look back up. “There have been rumors circulating… sir.”

He remained silent, feeling his back stiffen.

“I’m not one to follow up on the gossip but I am worried with how many people are joining in on it.” Loraine lowered his voice. Leaning in, his eyes raised to meet Cullen’s. “They’re speculating that there is a Mage that the Knight Captain prefers to bed.”

Cullen could sense his throat drying up.

“The Templars are… rather proud of this rumor. It’s idiotic, in my opinion. But the Mages… well, they’re either inciting favoritism among their ranks or accusing you of overstepping your authority.” Loraine’s shoulders shrunk. His fingers pressed against the spoon, threatening to snap the wood. “Is it true, what they say, sir? I know it is not my place to ask such things, but… I don’t want to see your name dragged in the mud.”

He racked his brain for a reply. It would be inappropriate to admit the nature of their relationship but if he denied everything, Cullen could run the risk of being caught lying should something was uncovered. He knew, deep within his subconscious, that their engagement was a mistake with consequences ready to pummel. He cursed himself every day for going along with her advance and even more so, he regretted his lack of control from keeping to duty rather than desire.

Taking in a deep breath, Cullen braced himself for what was to come. “I think people are under a mistaken impression.”

He could feel the tension ease in Loraine’s shoulders.

“Enchanter Amell and I came from the same Circle in Ferelden before arriving in Kirkwall.” He began spinning the story, careful to keep the details honest. “We worked closely together back then. I was even the Templar assigned to her Harrowing when she was still an apprentice. It is understandable why most would romanticize our interactions.”

There was nothing romantic of sorts between them, after all. Neither professed anything since their departure from the Tower. Not truthfully, at least.

“From the way you speak of her, it sounds like you hold a lot of respect for Enchanter Amell.” Loraine replied. His demeanor relaxed as he began working on his dinner.

“I do.” Cullen stated, focusing on his portion of the duck. He chuckled slightly under his breath. “I consider myself lucky to have met someone who shares as much dedication to their work. It almost makes me look normal.”

“She certainly does make you look normal, sir.” He nodded. “I’ve heard the stories and seen the immense work ethic for myself. It’s a bit frightening, if I’m being honest.”

“Trust me,” Cullen smiled, “I get quite the scare for her depleting health, myself. She unfortunately does not believe in her own physical limitations. Nor does she care to listen when her body is clearly under stress. Her stubbornness is legendary.”

Loraine snorted. “You’re quite stubborn yourself when it comes to work, sir. If she was not a Mage, I’d say you two would be perfect for one another.”

Those words stung. Being a Mage was what defined Asher as the sort of person she was. If she were not born a Mage, she would have never been transferred to Ferelden in the first place. If she were given the choice to live her life outside the Circle, they would have never met in the first place. He would most likely continue serving the Order as he always planned while she may have ended up as Hightown nobility, either scoffing at the Templars or praising their allegiance to the Chantry. Perhaps they would have met under different circumstances but chances are, he doubted that their paths would cross.

“Though you probably need a nice, gentle girl for a wife, sir.” Loraine continued poking at his meat. “The kind that eagerly awaits for you with a table full of food and a smile that shames even Andraste herself.”

Cullen shifted in his spot. A fantasy of happier days certainly played out in his mind many times in the past but now he wondered whether such a thing could even be possible. Especially with someone like Asher. Maybe with another woman this would have been easier. Maybe with someone who wasn’t a Mage there was still a chance at finding happiness.

“I’m sure there are plenty of eligible women in Kirkwall. And being the Knight Captain is quite the catchy title, sir.” He paused, looking back up to Cullen. “Why have you not looked into it, if I may ask?”

Cullen nearly choked on his spoon. “I-! It’s not something I have the… t-time to consider at the moment.”

Loraine raised an eyebrow. “If it is a matter of time management, I’m sure you can find the moment in your life to approach the ladies of Kirkwall, sir.”

“It’s not about finding the time.” Cullen cut him off rigidly, attempting to steer the conversation. “I am simply not interested in the ‘ladies of Kirkwall’ and all that they have to offer. My duty is to the Order first and foremost… as is yours.”

“Yes, sir.” Loraine swallowed his words. “I apologize for my inappropriate behavior.”

“No-!” He felt the shame creeping in the back of his mind. “I did not mean it that way. Look, I’m not saying that you should not engage in romantic endeavors with others… we’re human, after all. And it’s perfectly normal for you to feel devotion to something that is not the Order…”

Asher was absolutely correct – he was slowly become Greagoir by each passing day.

“There will be times when the love you feel for another is warranted and you may have the social approval to pursue it.” He continued, stumbling on his thoughts as he attempted to piece any sense of it. “But there may also come a time when what you feel is not acceptable in our society, particularly within the Templar Order. Even then, however, that is not to say that there is something wrong with you… it’s just…”

He paused. Where was he going with this? Was he even speaking to Loraine anymore?

“If it feels right… don’t allow other people to validate what you experience as immoral.” Cullen struggled to organize his thoughts. “You don’t owe it to anyone to explain or justify your feelings… it’s just as it is…”

He was embarrassed now. Cheeks red and eyes crazed, Cullen could not control his own cool as he rushed to his feet. This was not a way to present himself in front of people that relied on his levelheadedness. This was not the mark of a proper leader.

Loraine kept an intent stare at Cullen. His voice came out a whisper. “Do you consider what you feel for Enchanter Amell as immoral, sir?”

Cullen froze. His vision skewed as anxiety took full reign over his emotions.

“You do not need to hide it from me, sir. I am, unfortunately, a bit too perceptive for my own good.” Loraine glanced to the halls, a modest smile playing across his face. “I would recommend that you take to your own advice, sir.”

“That’s enough.” Cullen spat through his teeth. He was being lured into a trap. “I already made it clear that there is nothing of such between the Enchanter and I. Do I make myself clear?”

Loraine turned back to Cullen with a hint of boldness in his eyes that sent a shiver down his spine. “Crystal clear, sir. I am certain the rumor will die off soon.”

“It better.” He huffed, lifting his plate.

Cullen stepped around the table to empty his trash. He refused to make eye contact with Loraine again, the fear settling into his chest. It would be unlike him to go report this to the Knight-Commander or continue the gossip with the other Templars, but Cullen could not stop his heart from beating through his ears at the thought. He trusted Loraine and perhaps he was simply looking out for his betterment.

Before he could allow his reasoning to sort through the ordeal, Cullen found himself scaling the steps up the tower. He needed to see her, if only for a brief moment, to calm his turbulent state of mind. The uncertainty in their engagement was proving to be a problem, slowly eating away his sanity. If he were ousted tomorrow, caught fraternizing with a Mage under his watch and accused of treason by Meredith, would Asher even care for the fate of their relationship? Did it matter to her who kept her company late into the night, unwinding her at the mere touch of his fingers to relieve the stress that plagued her mind? Would any other Templar fit the job? Or Mage, at that?

Cullen picked up his pace.

Images of another man holding her in their embrace set his blood aflame. This jealousy over a nameless, nonexistent entity was driving him insane. There was no such person in her life and this imagination was unwarranted. He knew that. He should have.

Asher was seated behind her desk, mouth caught open to take a bite midway when he stormed through her doorway. She held one of the scrolls in her hands and a fork in the other. The surprise in her eyes caught him off guard, not used to seeing her genuine shock behind those practiced expressions she opted for as of late. Asher lowered her arm, placing the utensil on the plate and coughing to clear her throat.

“It’s midday.” She made the statement as if letting him know that his presence was unnecessary at this time of the day.

His irritation erupted. Closing the gap between them in just a few, elongated steps, Cullen hovered over her desk. His palms placed firm against the wood, he leaned dangerously close, completely aware of the door that remained ajar to the outside halls. The fear in her eyes matched his suddenly, realizing their situation.

He wanted to tell her everything – all of his frustrations and discomfort and dread, no matter how childish it seemed. He wanted to let her know, and the Order, and any suitor that may want to make a pass that he loved her beyond any reason. He wanted all of Thedas to acknowledge that their shared connection was much deeper than the physical flesh. But most importantly, he wanted to hear all of that from her mouth to solidify and eliminate any doubt that remained between them.

His perseverance crashed. The taste of her lips was too addictive. He cursed himself over and over, until the days ran out of eternity. Cullen made a promise to wait for her, no matter how much it pained him in the process. No matter how much it tore him to pieces, knowing that they may never evolve into anything more.

Cullen was no longer in love. What he felt for Asher was simple. He loved her, broken state of mind and all.

The figure that stood beside the classroom door went unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm...


	20. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher comes to a realization.

**9:32 Dragon**

* * *

Asher stared at the young woman across from her as they remained in her classroom for the evening. Her darkened hair curled and hugged the perimeters of her face. Long eyelashes hid the eyes that looked at her with unresolved curiosity. The First Enchanter had approached Asher earlier in the week to introduce this stranger as her newest apprentice. She was certainly the most unusual addition to her growing class of students. For starters, Bethany was a couple years older than Asher, which posed an odd dynamic. Secondly, she possessed a number of extraordinary talents in the field of Primal Magic. Asher was unsure how much more training she could provide to an already-seasoned Mage. And to top it all of, Bethany speculated that they shared a family line.

This was the most difficult for Asher to comprehend.

“I’m fairly certain you are,” Bethany continued to scribble something on her parchment without looking up. “I mean, how many Amells are there in Kirkwall, after all?”

“I suppose that is a possibility.” Asher trailed off.

Family. That was not something she ever expected to encounter within the Circle. Jowan became family after she arrived in Ferelden. They were a mx-match of siblings, attempting to fill the void after they were snatched from their parents. The Knight-Commander was the closest she had to a father figure. First Enchanter Irving and Wynne were more than mentors as well. This was different, though. These were blood relatives, bound by forces beyond her control.

“It’s also in your eyes.” Bethany continued, prompting Asher to return from her musings.

“What about my eyes?” She felt her spine jolt.

Bethany glanced up, leaning in across the table as if she was about to spill a secret. “Your eyes are that same, brilliant green. Jaron inherited it from our mother and she from her mother. I bet if you were to have children, they would carry that Amell trait as well.”

Children. That was another concept she never expected to grapple with. Asher slunk her shoulders, keeping her stare on the swirled pattern of the wooden table. Did Circle Mages even have children? When would the Templars allow for them to procreate? Did they require a written form of approval by the Knight-Commander prior to engaging in the act? All of this was too foreign, and rather silly, for Asher to understand.

“I doubt that is something we have the luxury to ponder on.” She mumbled, possibly answering her own questions. “No one is delivering children in the Gallows, after all.”

“Maybe if you became an apostate.” Bethany frowned, her own inner thoughts playing across her face in a grimace. “Life outside of the Circle as a Mage is not all about blood rituals and demon summonings, after all. We have functioning lives and families like normal people.”

“I-I’m sorry. I did not mean to sound rude.” Asher blinked, the shock of Bethany’s abrupt rebuttal settling in. “It’s just that… life within the Circle is all that I’m familiar with.”

“No,” Bethany held up her hand, “I should be the one to apologize. It’s unfair of me to let out my frustrations on you. Especially on family.”

She was such a commodity, speaking to Asher as a relative without even knowing each other for more than two days. Bethany took to her rather quickly, spending any spare moment granted in Asher’s classroom. For most of the time, Bethany was catching up on any terminology or concept that she lacked to supplement her practical experience. Then she inquired about Asher’s studies on Force Magic and the two found themselves tucked away in the library more often than not. But unlike Asher, Bethany had shorter motivation to focus on the readings. Thus they’d slip into conversation, something that Asher was slowly finding enjoyable by the day.

“Was the Ferelden Circle similar to the one here?” She perked up, looking at Asher from her notes, once again distracted.

Asher set down her own quill to the side. “They have some similarities… but the Gallows is quite different from Kinloch Hold.”

“How so?” Bethany set aside her parchment as well.

“It’s… more liberal, you could say.” Asher fought to formulate her thoughts. “I never realized how unsupervised we were until I came here. Kirkwall is a bit more regulatory in its nature. But I guess that’s because we have a lot more Mages here.”

“Or more Templars.”

Asher could sense the atmosphere freeze. “There certainly are… more Templars.”

“They will monitor everything you do. It’s as if you need written permission to breathe.” Bethany leaned back against her chair, frustration playing across her face. “Do they have nothing better to do than stalk my bowel schedule?”

Asher snorted.

Bethany smiled to herself. “Even as an Enchanter, you would think the Templars would reign back but it seems that the Knight Captain is glued to your hip.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. Unfortunately, it did not go unnoticed.

Eyes squinting slightly, Bethany tilted her head, arms crossed at her lap. “I thought it was odd that he visits your classroom more often than any other. Just the other day he stopped by right after the lecture ended and then again later that evening.”

Asher kept silent, glancing to the adjacent wall as if it was the most fascinating part of their one-sided conversation. Her vision blurred, dizzy from the anticipation that grew in her throat.

Bethany straightened. Her voice lowered. “Is he… he’s not pressuring you to do something you don’t want to do… right?”

“What?” Asher gawked, realizing the repercussions of her unanswered response. “N-no! I mean… no. _No_. He is not forcing a-anything.”

“But he is doing something that you are uncomfortable with?” She narrowed her gaze, intent on Asher’s every move.

“No.” Asher shook her head. “There is nothing inappropriate or discomforting going on. We just… chat sometimes.”

_With your tongue_ , she thought.

"The Knight Captain... he..." She trailed. "He's easier to talk to among any other Templar here. He's from the same Ferelden Circle, after all. He understands the differences."

Bethany leaned in, balancing herself on her wrists as she stood up from the seat. Her figure hunched across the surface, shoulders curled in as if to form a barrier between Asher and the world behind them. "Well, if he does decide to do something he shouldn't, you better let me know. I'll deal with him for you."

Asher could barely restrain the frown that was threatening to form at her lips. Instead, she opted to force a smile that she no longer could tell whether was genuine anymore. "Thank you." She added a short chuckle just to be safe. "I'll be sure to do so... after I give him a piece of my mind."

"That's the spirit." Bethany grinned. "You sure you don't want to become an apostate?"

"Maybe in another lifetime." She returned the smile.

As Bethany turned for the door, Asher could already sense the tension that melted from her bones. Once the heel of her foot disappeared behind the corner of the door hinge, she let loose her breath. Bethany was an unyielding force with a stubborn streak that could easily match her own. Her students obediently followed instructions. There were rare exceptions to those that dared to question her methods, which Asher found endearing, recognizing that they were seeking knowledge beyond the immediate rather than label them as trouble-seekers as the other Enchanters did. But when it came to Bethany, she felt that every word had to be strategically placed in order to keep that balance from swinging out of order. Bethany questioned everything. She even questioned the questions she questioned.

But in all honesty, Asher knew she'd be lying through her teeth if she ever admitted that she hated this push back. No... she loved every moment of it. There was a challenge that inspired her.

The day had long slipped from her. Asher looked out the window to the darkness that became all too familiar. Orsino told her to spend more time outside under the sun. He said it would help with her complexion and better regain some physical strength. Asher shrugged it off, allowing another day to roll by as she continued her studies. She slid from her chair, slowly rising as she arched her back to stretch. The cracks of air pressure releasing at her spine echoed in her empty classroom. Her arms flailed above her head as Asher reached out for the ceiling to release more tension, this time from her shoulder blades.

"There are Healers who could help with that." His voice danced across the room.

Asher looked down, her eyes catching sight of his as she lowered her hands. This was becoming routine. Every evening, as the last candle of the hour burned down, Cullen would stop by to escort her back to the quarters. It was a way to keep her in check with the curfew rules, but more so, this was to make sure Asher did not overwork herself into the dead of the night. It was no wonder that Bethany grew suspicious of the odd dynamic of this relationship and yet, she never stayed long enough for his arrival, too concerned to break that trust between them. Asher reached around to gather her scrolls into a neat stack.

"Don't take those with you." Cullen took a step forward. "You know you'll just end up falling asleep with them sprawled all over the floor."

"Yes, sir." She mumbled under her breath, placing the last scroll on top of the pyramid stack. "I promise I won't make a mess in my room."

He sighed heavily. "I swear, sometimes you behave like a child."

Asher turned back to him, having arranged everything in its place for the following day. "Only if it benefits me."

The smile spread wide from cheek to cheek. There was a warmth to this gesture, dazzling through the most dreadful of days. She had grown accustomed to it, dependent, some would argue if they knew. It was becoming significantly impossible to avoid his kindness. He never forced it upon her, it was simply there, always reliable and unwavering. Always in contrast to the tick that it would deafen.

Asher stepped around her table, blowing out the candles nearby as she made her way across the room. Her fingers rushed in every direction, finishing any last minute tidying before departing. This was no longer a routine but rather a habit that she formed. Sometimes it felt manic, like something her brain could not control as her hands decided to move on their own. She adjusted the last remaining crooked seat before walking over to Cullen's side. He raised an eyebrow as he stepped aside to let her pass. They cleared the classroom, the door shutting tight behind to mark the end of another successful day.

As they began the journey down the stairwell, Cullen spoke up again, another routine. "Did any of the apprentices misbehave?"

She placed a palm at the railing, her skin feeling the cool surface as she slid further down. "Not at all. They were their usual, studious selves."

"I'm glad no one is giving you any trouble." Cullen murmured, skipping a step to take the lead. "Though I imagine having an apprentice that is older than you can be quite the challenge."

"You're referring to Bethany?" Asher felt her back stiffen slightly with each step.

"Apprentice Hawke..." He began, pausing to search for his next words, "She is Jaron Hawke's younger sister. I'm sure you've heard that by now, though."

"I have also heard of his defiant streak with the Order... and the City Guard... and the Viscount."

"Yes... there certainly is a particular pattern with him." Cullen scratched his forehead. "The Knight-Commander's mood is always ruined for the day once she hears the latest news. And in turn, we all have to put up with her anger outbursts."

"Sounds like he's giving you more trouble than his sister." She gave a smirk. "Meanwhile, Bethany is a delight."

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Cullen stepped forward first, briefly turning back to her as Asher followed in suit. They came to the corner of the short hallway to start across the courtyard that was now hidden the darkness of the night sky. Only the few stars that peeked through the clouds illuminated the path that passed the field for the building across. He always walked ahead of her here, leading the way. Another routine that they developed.

It was this moment that allowed Asher to notice the broad expanse of his back every night. The Templar armor would gleam as the light hit the angle just right to cast a ray outward. His sword was neatly tucked behind the shield that hugged his spine. Only the crimson tint of the handle was in contrast to the grey design of his uniform. It was a shame that there was so little of that color that he donned. After all, red suited him.

There was a day a while ago when she allowed that thought to slip. In furious embarrassment, she had stuttered in place, skipping a few beats back once she realized what had happened. _Burgundy compliments you._ Cullen did not say anything in return. He just stood there, staring back at her with the same delirious expression and skin that burned red from shock. In an effort to try to save herself any more humiliation, she continued with a followup in a failed effort to make her previous statement seem organic.

_What color is best for me?_

He did not respond automatically, choosing to ponder on the question, as if it actually mattered. After a few moments of agonizing silence where Asher was debating whether she should simply continue walking and pretend to ignore the entire fiasco, he finally answered.

_Purple. Your skin is too light and cool for a warm color like red or yellow. A dark purple would suit you best._

They did not say anything else that night when he escorted her to her room. They never brought it up. She hoped he had forgotten her blunder by now. It became her lesson to keep her mouth shut when they crossed the courtyard. Another routine. Whether it was the lilacs that her students harvested in the garden to decorate her desk or the new winter shawl that she had sewn out of the extra velvet fabric that was left over from another project, perhaps it was unconsciously that she opted to add more violets in her life? That, or she could not muster to cast aside his words.

Another routine.

As they reached the western building, Cullen waited until she was back at his side before proceeding for the quarters. This was key to prompt another conversation. "You haven't been assigned to a post outside of Kirkwall in quite some time. Aren't you due soon?"

Cullen let out a frustrated sigh. "Unfortunately. Reports indicate that the Tal Vashoth have been growing in ranks at the Wounded Coast. The Knight-Commander is concerned how they might influence Kirkwall, what with the Arishok already within our walls. I will most likely be assigned that patrol in the near future."

"Hm..." Asher hummed low. "At least you'll be by the sea where you can feel the sand. Not like the basalt shores here."

He tilted his head in her direction, brow furrowing. "I... uh... I could bring you back a vial of it... if you wanted..?"

"I don't want to be the one responsible for distracting you from your duty," Asher diligently controlled the slight curve at the corner of her lip. "Knight Captain."

He gave a coy smile, playing along. "When I have the available moment, I'll be sure to grab a sample for you."

"Only if you have that moment to spare." Asher looked down, her hair spilled forward to obscure her expression.

They did not take their conversations any further than this. It always tethered on possibility that there was something hidden beneath each word they exchanged. Like a puzzle with missing pieces, the picture that represented their relationship was incomplete, allowing for them to test out his curves and her edges to fill what might eventually become a permanent image. A permanent routine.

Just as they were about to reach the corridor that lead to her room, something horrific caught her eye.

At the corner of the hall, standing lone and unattended, an Enchanter was branded with a fresh mark upon their forehead. Asher froze. She did not know this woman personally. She could not even recall her name but the hollow expression was all too familiar. Those dead eyes stared at her each day, reminding her of the anger she harbored for Kirkwall as Thomas kept close attention to her lectures. Now, this woman that Asher would never have the opportunity to know as a fellow Enchanter, had been sentenced a life of imprisonment, far worse than the cage they already resided in. This woman was robbed of her soul.

Asher stumbled slightly, nearly catching her step on the rug. Before Cullen could register what had occurred, she sped by him for the door. This emotion was irrepressible. The rage that boiled at the mere sight of a Tranquil set her blood aflame and it wouldn't be long after that the waterworks would begin, much to her disdain. She did not want him to see her as such. She was tired of being caught by him in these moments of weakness. But of course, she had not responded quickly enough to avert him. Cullen caught hold of the door that she attempted to slam into the frame, sliding inside before she could utter a protest.

"Asher."

" _Don't_." She cut him off instantly. "Don't say a word."

Asher hid her face, turning her back to him as she paced around the room. The tears were scorching against her skin.

"You should not bottle it up." He spoke low, his gentle kindness reappearing again.

"I'm not bottling up anything." Her reply was curt, still unwilling to look his way. Asher ran her hands through her hair, pulling back at the strands harshly, hoping that the sharp pain would curb the tears that kept spilling to no avail.

"You are sad for that Enchanter." Cullen whispered the statement, not a question.

"I'm not sad for her." Asher shook her head, her hair yanking against the grip. "I'm furious."

He waited for a second before speaking up again. "No, you're not."

She nearly whipped her neck into the wall as her gaze met his. No words could manifest.

"It pains you to see the Tranquil." He continued without skipping a beat. "Your heart breaks because you've seen the damage first hand with your own student."

"Yes. And that pain is anger." Asher hissed. "I'm angry. Not sad. Sadness doesn't motivate a person to make change."

Cullen glanced to the floor. "There's nothing weak about feeling sad. You have to give yourself the time to grieve."

His eyes trailed back up, his lashes covering the soft brown hue.

"Have you... grieved? For Thomas?"

"Grieving won't bring him back." She took a step back, her leg brushing against her bed. "Moping around doesn't fix the problem."

"Grieving is a time that is set to allow your heart to let go of the pain. If you hold onto that pain, your judgement can get clouded." Cullen took a step forward. "You end up making more mistakes that will hurt your students. And then your regret will consume you."

The strength in her legs finally caved. Asher slumped down into the mattress, her eyes set on the wall across the room.

"You care far more for these apprentices than any other Enchanter would. There's a reason for that." Cullen took another step, now arm's length away. "Asher, what is it?"

"I don't know." She muttered.

"You do know." He pressed on, kneeling at her eye level. "What do these kids mean to you?"

"They're my students." The words felt rehearsed. "It is my responsibility as their Enchanter to provide them a meaningful education."

"They mean more to you than that." Cullen frowned, leaning in. "Be honest with yourself. Stop running away from the truth."

"I'm not running away from anyth-!"

"You're being a coward!" His words bit into something raw. "What do these kids mean to you?"

It may not have been by blood, but this bond was far more stronger than anything she had felt for another person. Seeing the loss of one of her students was a devastating blow to her soul as it pierced deeper than any sword ever could. There was a word to describe the connection she shared with her apprentices but if she were to admit it, if she were to say it out loud, then the entire dynamic of her life would shift. Everything would change. Her balance, for what little was left of it, would throw into illogical chaos. Asher feared repeating that all over again.

"They're family." Her shoulders shuddered.

She was doomed to repeat her mistakes forever.

"These kids are mine and I won't allow anyone else to take them... never again."

Her wellbeing did not matter anymore. If it meant that her students would live in a world where they never have to see the cruelty of mankind, she would sacrifice herself to shield them from those horrors in a heartbeat. It did not matter whether she was breaking apart on the inside, her sanity wavering and unable to recover that balance she had before Kinloch Hold fell to demons. She could not let them know of this pain; they would never know what it's like to see the life of someone dwindle from their eyes. Asher was willing to let herself break into countless, shattered pieces if it meant that they would never have to worry about losing another loved one.

"You cannot let them see you cry."

His words sent a chill down her spine. The familiarity was haunting.

Cullen grasped her hands in his own on her lap, thumbs drawing circles along the skin. "You have to give yourself time to grieve so that you can release these painful thoughts. Once you achieve your clarity, only then can you take care of your family properly."

Their eyes met.

"Your compassion and love for these kids is sacred. That is where your strength lies. Not in anger. Or Force Magic." He leaned in to brush his lips at her fingers. "Your willingness to sacrifice everything for them is what makes you strong."

_It is a sacrifice that many cherish, understanding that they cannot do the same. That is why people gravitate to you._

"That is why your compassion is contagious."

_Tonight you are allowed to cry._

"That is why I keep unconditionally falling in love with you."

Asher sucked in her breath, tears gushing mad.

"I'm sorry." Cullen rose to his feet, letting go of her hands. "I keep breaking my promise to you."

He turned for the door.

"I wanted you to sort out your feelings for me without my influence." His hand cupped the doorknob. "Please do not feel obliged to respond to me. I want to make sure that you do so naturally, on your terms."

The door closed behind him leaving the room in deafening silence.

What did she feel for him?

Was there enough clarity to answer that question?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papa Greagoir strikes again.
> 
> So... in the original 75 chapter outline, they should have had done the sex by chapter 20... But at this point, who even knows if there will be any action (of course, there'll be action, dumbass me). But... idk how long this series is now because we've veered off into something much darker than I initially anticipated. So... enjoy? Thank you for continuing to stick around :)


	21. With Eyes That See the Bigger Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asher comes to terms with her mental state.

**9:32 Dragon**

* * *

Winter broke the darkened skies as snowflakes fluttered in the passing wind. Some clung to the stone walls of the Gallows while most were swallowed by the rocking pitch black sea. The Circle opted to burn significantly more candles around this time of year, desperately trying to emanate the lack of sun's warmth in light of the usual, downcast weather. Nighttime became Asher's favourite part of the day as the candles twinkled like stars that filled the Circle's cosmos. Since the dawn set quicker now, the Mages were still allowed to go about their business past night fall. She was finding herself spending less time cooped up in the library and more so enjoying the scenery as Asher took casual strolls around the Gallows every evening. Today marked a surprising exception to her routine. Today she did not spend a single minute on her studies.

Asher finished sewing her shawl for the season the night prior. The cool lavender hugged her shoulders neatly, long enough to reach her wrists and cover her entire upper body, cuffed at the neck in light grey lining. With the changing weather came an update to her wardrobe. The usual Mage robes were rather thin and could not keep her warm enough throughout the day. Asher pulled out the winter robes she had worked on with Wynne's help a few seasons back. This one was made of metal grey wool and decorated silver embroidery across the back. Wynne stated it was her most impressive work of the bunch.

Whether it was her change in ensemble or the cold chill that lingered within the halls, Asher woke up that morning without a single thought of her research. The lectures were taking a break as students spent as much time outside under the sunlight as possible. Even Orsino was less adamant about their Force Magic lessons.

Asher tucked herself in her shawl, grabbing a mug to head for the dinning hall to start the day with some hot tea and honey covered bread. Along the way her students paused to strike up a conversation about the recent cloud patterns they observed followed by a shared meal that prolonged their discussion. When Asher finished her breakfast, she headed for the gardens to assist the Tranquil herbalists. They worked with few breaks in between until the sky muted and the lights illuminated the courtyard. Passing Templars were busy with their own tasks to notice a couple Mages huddled around the bushes. Asher bowed out, collecting a handful of ripened herbs that she'd use for her research, and headed for her room. The plan was to finish the day with some light reading on nature interpretation that she found hidden in the library.

Though her tasks have been fairly effortless for that day, her mind wandered to no limit, scattering in every direction as she pondered on words that carved deep into her mind.

Where had her clarity disappeared?

The world, though intricate and complex, never seemed so hazy with doubt as it did now. Back then she was able to view every situation from an objective lens, preferring the company of stoic logic to guide her actions while adjusting to the dynamic change. She had preferences of her own and a moral guide that nudged her in a direction her soul felt comfortable enough to follow while at the same time weighing the consequences of a biased point of view. Now, nothing made much sense.

It was as if the world flipped upside down and shook the pillars of reasoning that once held up her sanity. The Mages were constantly bickering with the Templars here. The Templars were just as harsh with their response which fueled the brewing anger. At times it felt that Orsino encouraged the arguments while Meredith rarely kept her Templars in check, at least not publicly. Meanwhile, no matter how much she attempted to shield her apprentices from these disputes, even the children were beginning to parrot the rhetoric. The madness was spreading, taking root deep within the crevasses of their society.

For the most part, she either felt one of two things these days. Asher either harbored anger for a Circle that unjustly harmed children in the name of political gain or, when she ran out of energy to sustain that fury for her superiors, the hollow nothingness crept around the corner and settled to fill a void in her heart. Everything appeared bleak and the tick echoed within her brain like drops of water pattering after a heavy storm. The said storm had left Asher broken. The pain and regret she once felt with the aftermath of Kinloch Hold had completely numbed. Her personality was altered. She was more prone to snarky outbursts or simply ignoring everyone, including her elders, something she never imagined to do while in Ferelden back then. Asher no longer understood what it meant to be alive; for what purpose did she exist in this world?

The only time she felt any release from this pressure was the moments spent with her students. Whether it was their unyielding desire to absorb the world's knowledge or the genuine happiness that shined through this vile atmosphere, Asher eagerly awaited her lectures as much as they had, if only to escape the reality outside her classroom for a few hours. The days without them were draining, until another warmth presented itself in the most unlikely source.

Capable of silencing the tick, his kisses were electrifying. His gentle approach was heaven-sent, washing over any negative emotion that haunted her mind. Her soul sang for him, heartbeat rising as everything spun into a flush pink bliss as he graced her lips. And when he opted to follow through with his own desires, that he condemned every time, the results were violently beautiful.

And yet, he was no exception to the Circle's state of affairs. He served under Meredith, her second-in-command, and motivated by his own anger - the condemnation of Mages for the torture he endured, as they proclaimed it in hushed whispers. In all honesty, Cullen was not necessarily unfair but the calm demeanor he once held when interacting with her kind had all but evaporated in contrast to the stern wall that he put up when dealing with them. He stated that she was his sole exclusion, that he trusted only her magic. But the guard he put up around her could not be hidden within his eyes. He was still cautious as he walked about the Gallows, keeping his distance. Cullen was part of this Mage-Templar equation, just as much as she was, both unwilling participants that wanted nothing more than to escape this propaganda hell.

The mere thought of it made her nauseous. Was this the reason for her missing clarity?

Asher turned for her room as she passed more Templars that eyed her within the hallway. Her arms were exhausted and fingers sore from the thorns that prickled through the gloves. She could easily heal the punctured wounds but her body was starting to wane. Perhaps she had finally reached the breaking point that Cullen and Orsino warned her of.

"Asher!"

Her heart stopped.

"Where have you been? I looked for you at the library all day!" Bethany ran up to her side, chest heaving to catch breath. "Can you imagine my shock to find that you were not at your usual spot?"

Asher looked her way, a smile erupting. Bethany, whether as a student or new friend, was another example of the calm that brought peace in her company. "I'm sorry... I guess I wasn't feeling up to studying much today."

Bethany's eyes widened, her hands hooking at her waist. "Are you feeling sick?"

"N-not at all." Asher shook her head. "I think I just needed a break."

"Could it be that all of my nagging has finally paid off?" She let out a hearty laugh. "This must be the most fascinating event that has happened since I've joined the Circle. Asher is actually heeding advice from people that are concerned about her health?"

"You're ridiculous." The blush grazed across her ears. "I'm perfectly capable of knowing my own limits."

Bethany snorted. "Yeah, when nugs fly."

Asher frowned, leaning against her door. "Did you actually want something or is it your plan to simply continue mocking me tonight?"

"Yes, yes!" She patted her shoulder, taking a step closer. "I was actually hoping to speak to you... in private. Do you mind if we take this conversation into your room? I am not eager to have Templars eavesdrop on us."

It was Asher's turn to worry. "Did you... are you in danger? Is this something we need to seek the First Enchanter's assistance?"

Bethany glanced around. She paused at Asher's concern, her brow furrowing. "What? No. We don't need to have the First Enchanter involved."

"But you're still in danger?" Asher continued to pry in spite of Bethany's fidget.

"What danger..?" She scratched the skin at her hair line. "Maker! Asher, I promise I am not planning my grand escape from the Gallows or brewing more apostate blood magic rituals. Can we just step inside? Please?"

Asher reached for the handle, pressing down to prompt the door to open. The two women stepped in before closing themselves off to the rest of the Circle.

Bethany walked around Asher, heading straight for the bed as she plopped onto the mattress. She bounced at the contact of the spring. Asher stepped to the window to brace herself for this secretive news she was about to hear. Even if Bethany assured her that there was nothing dire going on, she could not stop the fear from creeping into her mind. Her clarity was crystal clear then. Her concern for the apprentices did not allow her better judgement to be clouded. She needed her clarity to protect the people she cared for the most and Bethany just so happened to fit that category.

"Well?" Asher spoke up after the silence between them continued to drag on with no an end in sight.

"Well..." Bethany prolonged the vowel while avoiding her eye contact. "I guess you could say that I'm looking for a favor of sorts."

"A favor?" She repeated, trying to process everything carefully.

"A favor." Bethany nodded.

Asher remained silent. She needed to wait out Bethany's explanation if she were to act rationally.

The sky outside her window had started to turn dark. Asher glanced to a cluster of candles that were arranged on her cabinet, a gift from Orsino upon her arrival to Kirkwall. With a roll of her arm, she ignited the wick to keep some light within the room. Most of the sticks had been covered over with dripped wax from her endless nights of studying on the rug floor. She recalled Cullen tripping on one of the candles while complaining about the late hour and nearly setting her room ablaze. They ended up completely laughing over the matter after he put out the flame with his foot. She had ruptured in giggles first, much to the surprise evident on his face, until he gave in to join her.

How long had it been since she allowed herself to let loose like that?

"So..." Bethany attempted to piece her thoughts a second time. "I have a letter... that needs to be delivered."

Asher raised an eyebrow.

"I know, I know." She waved an arm. "This isn't just a letter. Well... actually, it is just a letter. With words. And punctuation.But it's the recipient that makes this letter unique."

"How so?" Asher leaned in, crossing her arms at her chest.

"All of our letters, whether they're coming in or going out, are always inspected by the Templars." Bethany slowly continued. "I cannot have anyone read this letter except for the intended person."

Asher let out a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping. "You are planning an escape, after all."

"No, I am not!" Bethany snapped.

"Then why are you being so secretive about this letter?" Asher huffed, her frustration looming around the corner. "You constantly send letters to update your mother and brother, even though you know that the Templars read through them, regardless. Why are you so intent on keeping this one away from them?"

"Because." Bethany shrunk in her space. "I cannot let them see this one and I was hoping you could help me deliver it without their consent."

"That's not a good enough reason." Asher held firm her ground. "Try again."

"Please. I can't tell you what's written in it." Bethany pressed.

"Why not?" Asher rebutted. "If I'm going to help you out, and that is still up in debate whether I will or not, I have the right to know what I am getting myself into."

"Asher." Bethany lowered her voice. "I cannot."

"Last chance."

Bethany bit her lower lip.

"Or I'm walking out of this room to get myself some dinner and we're not having this conversation again."

She had to remain vigilant. This was the only way to assure that she could protect Bethany if all of the cards were revealed from the start. If that meant pushing Bethany to the brink to keep her safe, so be it.

Taking a step forward, Asher began heading for the door. The final warning.

"The letter is addressed to my lover!" Bethany screeched with a broken voice.

Asher halted in her step, dumbfounded and lost, she turned to her with bewilderment plastered across her face. "Your... what?"

"My _lover_! I'm trying to deliver a letter to the person I love and I don't want the Order to sit in on our mushy conversations." Her embarrassment shook her whole. "Are you satisfied?"

Asher stuttered. "I d-don't understand... h-how..?"

Bethany's entire demeanor switched in a split second as her glare honed in on Asher mercilessly. "You're _really_ going to ask me how I have a lover when you're the one sticking your tongue down the Knight-Captain's _throat_?"

"No one is sticking their tongue down anyone's throat." She nearly hissed the sentence.

"Oh, _I'm sorry_." Sarcasm coated her words. "I must have mistaken your heated evening make out sessions with innocent chats of shared memories of Ferelden. Do tell how he's the easiest Templar to be around, why don't you? I'm sure it has nothing to do with the way he ogles at you like a drunken idiot across the dinning hall when the Knight Commander isn't looking."

Her face flushed a scarlet red as Asher scrambled to find her sanity. "Alright, already - I get it! You want to deliver a letter to your lover without the Templars knowing about it!"

"Is it an 'opposites attract' kind of thing?" Bethany continued without skipping a beat. "Because I imagine it would be a lot easier to spend all of those nights together when he's out of that Templar uniform and in your-!"

A pillow smacked Bethany's head as Asher jumped across the room, unable to hear the rest of her rant. " _No one_ is out of any uniforms! Will you stop it, already?! I'm fairly certain that I learned my lesson!"

"Wait," Bethany peered behind the pillow that she placed at her side on the bed. "You two haven't..?"

"Bethany." The threatening caution in her voice magnified. "Stop."

"But, wait. I'm curious now." She beamed suddenly. "Is it because the Chantry Boy is too shy to shame his dear Andraste or are you the one who isn't willing to take the relationship to the next step?"

"Bethany." Asher gave a second warning. "Drop. It."

"But you love him, don't you?" Her words prickled something sensitive. "Don't you?"

She stiffened.

"Look, I can't say that I am pleased that you are in the intimate company of a Templar, I'll be honest." Bethany shrugged, glancing to the ground. "But he seems to cherish the very ground you walk on."

Asher withheld her breath, her knuckles turning white at the clench.

"I've seen the way he painfully stares at you when you're not paying attention. I don't know what the nature of your relationship is, but I think it's quite clear how he feels about it." Bethany turned her gaze back to her. "Love isn't supposed to be logical. Love doesn't care that you two are polar opposites... just as it doesn't give a damn that I might be stuck in this Circle for the rest of my life while my heart still yearns for the one who has more freedom than he'll ever imagine."

The tick echoed into a silence.

"Sometimes you just have to throw caution to the wind and follow what your instinct commands. Some people say that life is too short and I, for the longest time, disagreed with that statement, fearing to place the people I loved in unnecessary danger for my irrational actions." She smiled to herself, looking to the window now. "But once everything you hold dear is stolen from you, suddenly it's all painted in sorrow. You start to view the world with eyes that see the bigger picture. And in this world, people like us don't have the luxury to be cautious."

Asher sensed the lump forming at the base of her throat. She struggled to push out the following words. "I will check for contacts that may be able to send your letter out."

Bethany twirled in her direction. "H-hold on a minute..."

"Give me a couple months to see if there's a way." Asher ducked her head away. She could no longer look her way with cheeks that burned her core.

"Asher-!" Bethany attempted to reach out.

The rest of her sentence fell on deaf ears. Asher bolted out of the room. The heel of her boots chimed across the halls in a brisk walk as Asher focused on making it across the Gallows at top speed. Her shawl glided in the passing wind, the chill sneaking under the fabric to sting her exposed skin. She could not place her finger on this emotion.

There was sadness, something she had grown unaccustomed to by now. Asher kept stuffing this feeling into the depths for so long until it spilled like waves crashing fiercely against her practiced wall, eroding away the bare stone that sealed her heart. But that wasn't the only thing on her mind. An inkling of warmth spread through her chest. It kept heating up until reaching scorching heights; until breathing became too painful to sustain.

Asher stepped into the Templar corridor. By now, most Templars were either getting ready to head for the night or were finishing the remainder of their patrol before switching shifts. The hallway remained empty with lights dimming under each passing door. Her eyes searched for one, particular door. Wider than most, it bore the Chantry insignia that was carved into the wood. Most time of the day, this door remained ajar, inviting anyone to come inside. Most of the time, she avoided this door as much as possible. As Asher spotted it, she took note of the closed entrance. Her heart leaped to her throat when she realized that there was still light coming from the crack beneath it.

Her palm pressed firm to the surface.

There was no running away from this.

The tick that used to plague her daily was no where to be seen. The anger she bore had been subsided by the warmth and the hollow void was burning in the fire. Her mind was centered as all buzzing thoughts ceased. There was a calm that could bring her to tears, realizing how much she missed this peaceful silence. Everything was finally beginning to align.

Asher pushed forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O!? YES?!


	22. Her Painted Landscape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen. NSFW.

**9:32 Dragon**

* * *

The black box sitting prim from atop his bookshelf stared at Cullen without mercy. If he focused on the paperwork at hand, he could sometimes go for hours without his embarrassment rearing its head. But then he'd give one glance across his office to have his eye catch the box from the corner, and the spiral of humiliation ensued, swallowing him whole. Cullen was uncertain why he decided to follow through this fantasy that day but now, he was paying the consequences with his diminishing dignity daily.

It was a simple, honest statement. He should not have reacted the way he did, gawking like an idiot who had never been flattered. Burgundy compliments you.

His mind could not fathom the idea that Asher considered his physical appearance. Since Kinloch Hold, she had yet to genuinely express her opinion of him and this came as a shock for Cullen to imagine that she viewed him as something beyond his Templar duties... or the occasional stress relief. To make matters worse, hinting at her past self that constantly sought to keep their engagements fluid in the face of their inevitable awkward nature, she asked him what color suited her. His thoughts scattered to envision her in every color of the rainbow, comparing and contrasting with precision to identify what hue played best across her skin. Which color made her shine the most? In which fabric would he want to cover her while exploring the expanse of her body under his curious touch?

She waited for his reply patiently. What followed was a litany of observations that he only dared to make in the privacy of his room, littered with hidden intentions for every sentence.

_Purple_.

Like the undertones that he discovered while placing soft pecks to her wrist during those stolen moments in her classroom.

_Your skin is too light and cool for a warm color like red or yellow._

Her fair, northern heritage deserves to be wrapped in royal blues to contrast the Frostback Mountains that she is meant to reside in, far away from the Chantry's foreboding eye, an elegance hidden among nature's beauty.

_A dark purple would suit you best_.

The kind of dark purple that he relished in peeling away layers to reveal the pink of her blush, exposed and exhibited solely for him to bask in as he pushed her limits, eliciting a voice that would shame any Chantry Sister into a confession.

Maker, he was truly beyond help.

When he roamed about Hightown a few days later, Cullen was on a mission. The stalls were draped in exquisite fabric, varying in material and seductive to the touch. Cullen wandered about the market place, fluttering from merchant to merchant while analyzing the best match of color. He eventually caught the eye of an Orlesian woman who motioned him to come forth after another unsuccessful discovery. Cullen walked up to her, caution lingering between each step.

"Let me guess," She pursed her lips with a dainty smile and a heavy accent to match, "It is either your mother or a lover?"

Cullen's flush rose up his neck.

"Lover." The woman nodded her head. "Younger or older?"

"It's for a friend." He managed to blurt out. "She is... slightly younger."

"No man presents a gift to a female 'friend' unless he has intentions to blur that line between them." She turned to look to the items at her stall, fingers grazing the selection in search of something. "How long have you known the young lady?"

Cullen felt small compared to the woman that barely came to his shoulder. Her perception was impeccable. His mutter came with shy hesitation. "A few years now. Nearly four."

"And you only decide to present her with a gift, now?" The woman whipped around, her brow bunched. "No wonder she is merely a 'friend'. That poor girl needs to be snatched up quick if you keep stalling like that."

"Please," Cullen could sense his cheeks and forehead redden by each passing second. "I would rather not discuss my failing attempts at courtship and focus on finding something violet."

"Violet?" She tipped her head in thought.

"Violet." He repeated with resolution, a sudden surge of confidence filled him. "Preferably the darkest shade you have."

The woman returned to her goods, rummaging through the pile in search of something that matched his vague description. Cullen nervously shifted in his spot, concerned that a fellow Templar may spot him in his endeavors. What would he even say to them? If he tried to play it off as a gift for his family, the Orlesian merchant would give him up quicker than Meredith's temper. Then the mocking and teasing he endured in Ferelden would follow him to Kirkwall. If it was Loraine, however, he was certain that the man would follow in the merchant's suit and proceed to critique his uncoordinated pursuit.

It was in that moment that the Maker decided to shame him.

"Curly?"

Cullen froze. The familiar voice he had grown to recognize after Hawke's plentiful run ins with the law belonged to the dwarf that grew in popularity with each tale he spun of their adventures.

Varric stepped up to his side, peering to see what business he had in Hightown. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Likewise." Cullen gave a short nod.

"Trying to find a sacrifice in hopes of subduing the monster that is your Knight Commander?" Varric grinned ear to ear.

"We are locating a gift for a young lady who has been subjected to his excruciatingly long patience." The Orlesian merchant pipped up from behind a stack of folded cotton robes. "Are you interested in purchasing something from our establishment?"

Varric shook his head, throwing his arms before him. "I'm afraid I cannot spare the coin today, darling Peony. Though this business I hear about a mysterious young lady that has caught our Knight-Captain's attention is most peculiar."

Peony rolled her eyes. "Is this a Free Marcher thing? These men are rather slow on the uptake."

"I'm afraid it's much worse than that." Varric gave an exaggerated sigh. "This is a Ferelden thing."

"The agony!" Peony exclaimed with the same theatrical bravado. "It must be in his boorish nature to keep a lady waiting for nearly four years!"

"Four years?" He laughed as his chest bounced with each breath. "Curly, you are indeed a relentlessly stubborn force. But at least we have now progressed to the gift-giving phase of their relationship."

"Will you two cut it out?" Cullen finally spoke up. His face was completely flush. "I do not need to be lectured about the state of my affairs in front of all of Hightow-!"

"Found it!" Peony interrupted him. She held up her arms as a sash of deep plum fabric spilled between her fingers. It was a stark, dark contrast against the sunny day, catching his attention the moment Peony pulled it out. Cullen took in a prolonged breath. The ribbon drew him in.

"I think we found a winner." Varric nudged his side.

"Nevarran silk." Peony maneuvered the fabric that basked in the light. "It comes in an array of colors that decorates the city walls during their summer festivals. This particular shade is a favorite among women who want to let society know that their significant others partake in dangerous adventuring across the country."

Cullen took a step forward. The history of this material did not suit Asher in the least but the shade was everything he hoped for. When his fingers grazed the surface, the softness felt like liquid to his touch, contouring to his liking. Cullen reached around his pocket to feel the coin purse that bulged from his harness.

His voice came out with an airy high. "How much?"

Finding her a gift was one sort of challenge. Presenting her with it was an obstacle he was not ready to overcome. Thus the black box remained sitting on the shelf, silently judging his cowardice as he worked to distract himself with stacks of reports for most of the day.

The daylight had long since crept over the horizon. He listened to the quiet halls of Templars reserving to their quarters. The Knight Commander was out of Kirkwall on duty to meet with other Commanders in neighboring Circles for the week, a gathering of authority of sorts. Thus he was left in charge in her absence. Thankfully, most of the Templars preferred to keep to their duties than start drama with her missing presence. Most Templars were agreeable to an extent. It was the Mages who rallied under his watch, sensing the lack of her iron fist in his diplomatic approach.

Cullen leaned against his chair. Closing his eyes was a rare joy he had these days. His lids were heavy, caving under the lack of hours of sleep and immense exhaustion of his responsibilities. If this was what it meant to become Knight Commander, the taste of the work ethic alone fueled his drive for success. Greagoir's tired demeanor started to make more sense as Cullen continued climbing up the ranks. Perhaps if he distracted himself enough...

The door to his office suddenly flung open, hitting the surface against the wall with a thunderous clap. Cullen's eyes shot open, jumping into a straight line in his seat. His sight focused with wild intention, his mind springing back to life after realizing he had dozed off for a fleeting moment. Then his breath caught in his throat at the view before him.

Asher appeared slightly dazed, recovering from her brisk walk across the courtyard. The shawl that must have been draped over her shoulders was now hanging low at the elbows, revealing a winter robe that curved along her shape. Her cheeks were red, breath heavy from the crisp cold night. Before Cullen could process what to do next, how to even begin his approach, Asher reached around to close the door.

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. It was clear that she was lost in her thoughts as she struggled to form a coherent sentence. "I need to speak to you."

Cullen sighed under his nose, attempting to release some of the tension buried deep within. "I'm here."

Asher blinked. She glanced down to her feet, fidgeting back and forth, her hands clasping at her stomach. "Right... of course you are. That makes sense."

His heart thrashed. He watched her pace, her eyes scattered about. Cullen wanted to reach out, to cradle her in his arms and soothe this panic. To calm the nerves and distract her from her worries. Instead, he was too frightened to even question the origin of her distress. What if she had an accusation from another Templar, would he be able to view the situation without bias? Would his own sanity break to condemn her for treason against the Order? He shook off the thought. All he could muster to do now was await for whatever was about to unfold.

"I don't... I don't want us to do this anymore." Asher trembled. "Not if... not if it's painful for you."

Cullen's thoughts emptied his brain. This was the last thing he expected to hear.

"I'm still trying to figure out what I feel. I'm still trying to find that clarity." She continued, avoiding looking his way. "But it is unfair of me to continue dragging you along when I have not sorted everything. I am the only one benefiting from this exchange."

"That is not true..." Cullen barely whispered.

"When I'm around you, it's quiet... and calm... and... safe." Asher halted at the opposing wall, her face turned from him, shoulders slumping. "I could get swept up in this feeling, willingly, and find happiness in it. Around you, I don't have to be cautious. I can reveal myself completely, unsure of the world and lost to this turmoil. And you see things... some things that I don't even see. But..."

Cullen leaned forward to rise. His hands pressed with brutal force into the wood of his table to find balance. "But?"

There was a crack in her voice. "But I cannot make you happy."

He stepped around the table. Something caused her to spiral out of control. And yet, there were signs of the old Asher sprinkled in each exchange. She was still rough around the edges, abrupt and cold, broken pieces piercing harshly. However, her compassion was slipping through the cracks. She was worried about him in regards to the dynamic of their relationship. That was a first. This was abnormal for the current Asher.

"I don't know how to provide you that same calm." Asher sniffed. "And what you want the most... I don't know if I'll ever be able to give that to you."

Cullen took another step closer. He wanted it, badly. And his attempts at concealing this desire fell short. She knew how much he yearned for her but up until now, he thought he was the only one who suffered at this disposition. Asher was fully aware of his need to have her heart and it ate at her conscience, knowing that at this moment she could not provide what he craved. But if they parted ways, the pain of loss would be greater than the agony of patience. The cycle was maddening.

"So you're just going to make that decision for me?"

Asher's shoulders tensed. It was his turn to shock her.

"When we decided to start over, both of us made that choice. It was a mutual agreement and I did not unwillingly enter this relationship with you being the sole beneficiary of our engagement." He continued, slowly making his way across the room.

She had to understand his commitment to this.

"If I feel pain, it will be my call to decide whether I want to cease our relationship... just as you are free to do the same."

She turned her head slightly to the side. He could spot the few tears that had rolled over her chin. "But if it hurts you..."

"Then I will end it on my own terms." Cullen reiterated firmly. "You can only be sure of your own feelings and from what it sounds, you seem to be quite content with our situation."

"Yes, but-!" She twisted to his voice.

His hand caught her shoulders, refusing to let her budge, much less allow her to look back to him. "It's impossible to know what someone else feels. The only thing you can do is decide whether you trust them enough to be honest with you."

Asher ceased struggling against his hold.

"I trust you." Cullen inhaled deep. "Do you trust me?"

Her answer would determine everything.

"That means you are willing to believe my words for you." He mumbled low. "I tell you this now that I will not lie to you about anything. Whether it is my intentions, or my views, or my feelings... if you trust me, you are agreeing to this unspoken contract that we will not hide anything from each other in our relationship. Do you understand that?"

She moved her head once in a brisk nod.

"And?"

The strain in her body eased, muscles releasing under his grip, submitting.

Asher's voice was a song that lulled him to serenity.

"I trust you."

_Sweet Maker_ , how he wanted to drop to his knees. His mind fluttered as emotions overflowed, filling him to a point where it felt that he was ready to burst, craving to yell at the top of his lungs for the whole Gallows to hear. She was willing to place her trust in him after everything that has occurred. Despite his embarrassingly juvenile pursuits at connecting with her in Kinloch Hold. Or the terrible words he spat at her when she attempted to help him overcome his trauma. Or his aggressive impulse when he knew she was all but lost to him. Or the selfish motive he harbored for her while she was still recovering. Asher took it all in, processed the whole, and still chose to trust him.

Then a nagging thought knocked at his conscience, reminding him of the task he had yet to accomplish. Perhaps this was the opportunity he waited for, his 'excruciating patience' finally awarded. Releasing his hold over her shoulders, Cullen stepped back, devastated of the missing heat at his chest.

"Don't move." His voice grew rough, instantly regretting the flinch that it evoked from her. "It won't hurt, I promise."

He reached to slide down the black box from his bookshelf. Careful to unwrap the seal, Cullen placed the lid on his desk to pull out the ribbon. The inside lining of the box was black velvet, softly nestling the fabric to keep it safe. His fingers scooped the material as the delicate plum slid down his arm, attempting to escape his grasp. Setting aside the box, he turned back to Asher who had obediently remained still.

His heart raced, hammering beats drowning out all sound. He could no longer make out her hitched breathing as she sought to regain herself from the tears. Cullen wanted nothing more than to reassure her that he was a willing participant in their relationship, that he wanted to be in her company as much, if not more, than she had expressed on her part. His hands moved above the crown of her head, hesitantly pausing, until forcing himself to follow through with his plan. The ribbon barely caught her eye as he lowered it in front of her. But before she could conjure a remark, he gently pulled back on it, fastening the fabric around the base of her neck with a loose knot just short of her hair. Her sudden gasp caught his attention.

"This color suits you best." Cullen sighed quietly. "It compliments you."

Her hands rose to her neck, shaking fingers brushing the ribbon. "It's soft."

"I hoped it would be." He felt a sense of relief crawling in his words. "Silk is supposed to be delicate."

Asher swallowed hard. "Why..?"

He was certain he understood which statement she had directed that question but no amount of words could describe the reason for this gift. The control that kept a close patrol over him was rapidly crumbling, realizing the intimacy of their position. Cullen decided to test that restraint. He bent forward, allowing his lips to touch the exposed skin of her neck above the ribbon. And then, he was too late to stop the groan that erupted within his chest as he offered open mouth kisses upon her flesh.

Like an arrow drawn into an agonizing pull, Asher shuddered violently at the release, allowing her entire being to give into him. She tilted her head to the side, granting him access to continue mapping a trail on her neck; whether she intended it was still a mystery. Cullen slid his hands south, gripping at her waist and pulling in rather harshly, back colliding into his torso and he swore he saw stars shower the office.

His teeth grazed bone of her shoulder. The robe was problematic. Taking in a staggering breath, Cullen spoke barely above a whisper. "May I see more?"

Asher leaned back, throwing her head onto his shoulder. He eyed the expanse of her chest over the horizon, heaving erratically as she struggled to find balance. His palms slid around her waist to the front, pressing fingers to her stomach and drawing out a moan so eager that his ears flushed pink instantly. Taking cue to ride out this response, Cullen trailed up and up. Slowly, caressing the lower tip of her ribs, he dared to do something he only dreamed of late in the evenings.

He massaged and rolled the skin hidden beneath the robes as Asher nearly thrashed against his chest. Her breasts fit neatly into the palm of his hands, feeling the buds form at his rough contact. He wished he could part her clothes, revealing what forbidden secrets she hid underneath those craftily layered and flowing ensembles she usually wore. He nudged his forehead against the crook of her neck, rubbing his temple into the fabric of her gift and giving her chest another tight squeeze.

" _Please_." He resorted to begging now. Maker, just how low was he going to stoop?

Asher's breath ceased, nearly loosing all control of herself, as she stumbled to stand straight.

He decided to temp once more. "You can keep the scarf, if it'll make it easier."

She needed the space to process his request. He needed it as much as his brain caught up to process the intent of his own words.

Stepping back, his hands slid from behind, parting to his sides as Cullen fought the urge to pull her to him. Asher did not follow. She stood at the corner of the room, breath ragged. Her hands reached up to run fingers through her hair, stopping abruptly at the silk. The back muscles stretched to reveal defined shoulders beneath the wool fabric. The ribbon was longer than Cullen anticipated, following the path of her spine over the intricate embroidery of her robes before dipping into the curtain of her shawl. His thoughts melted.

If Asher wanted to end their evening here, he would oblige without opposition. Until he was pressed to ponder on it, Cullen realized just how much he already asked of her tonight. Gifting her trust was something he did not allow himself to imagine, too frightened to have his heart break so soon. But instead, she continued to surprise him. They managed to avert ending their relationship and even succeeded in deepening their bond, all in one evening. His greed needed to be curbed before he pushed her so much that she retreats, taking more steps back than forward. If he was not careful, he could risk losing it all.

Just as Cullen was about to withdraw his request, the words lodged in his throat, his entire world shifting under his feet.

Reaching down, in one elegant draw of crossed arms, Asher pulled at the fabric. Rising to reveal everything before him, she slid out of the robe, leaving behind only her black small clothes and the ribbon that remained loosely hanging from her neck. And of course, the knee-high boots. Holy shit.

She bent down, the curve of her bottom unintentionally teasing the itch that developed in his gut, to pick up the shawl that had been caught by the robe only for Cullen to finally catch on that her chest was now left unattended. Draping the lavender cloth over her shoulders, Asher placed her hands to cover her breasts. Her voice shakes with breathless words.

"What do I do now?"

_Holy shit_.

Cullen felt dizzy as the room spun for him. She was truly wicked. Without realizing just how much she affected him, Asher managed to singlehandedly bring him to the brink of his insanity. The demons that plagued his dreams every night were never this creative, never capable of harnessing the gentle innocence that made her genuinely Asher. It would be so easy to take advantage of this situation, to force her to that wall, legs thrown over his forearm and dangling as he pumped mercilessly into the soft warmth he hungered for since their afternoon by the lake. He would be her first, a thought that sent him to new heights, imagining the kind of screams she would bestow upon any passing Templar who thought it convenient to eavesdrop.

_Stop_. He had to be sure that she knew what she was getting herself into. She needed to voice her desire for this.

"Asher." His voice rumbled with desperation. "My sweet dove..."

Her blush travelled to her neck by now.

He did not permit himself to come closer until she gave her consent.

"Are you certain that you want to take this leap... with me?"

A silence. She is weighing the severity of this evening, most likely playing out every scenario her mind can foresee. If she declines, tonight would still be enough for him. If she is not ready, not willing to cross that threshold, he could find the strength within to wait longer. At least he now knew that she would at the most consider the possibility even if they did not go through with the act. That was more than enough for Cullen. More than enough to satisfy the urge for another night.

But if she agrees.

His ears are ringing. The blood must have rushed to his head, clouding his vision and heating his face with the embarrassment of his vivid imagination. He is prepared to bail if that made it simpler for her to avoid the guilt of leading him on. If she wants to cease everything, he would comply to her wishes if only to see her content.

"It's alright if you don't w-."

"With you." She cuts him off briefly.

Cullen is left blinking in a stupor, unsure of the meaning behind her statement.

She tries again. "If it's with you, I am certain of it."

"Asher, think this over." He is trembling. "I do not wish to rush you into something you are not pr-."

"Please don't make me repeat myself."

Everything clicked.

He moves in clumsy precision. The armor suit of his Templar uniform is unlatched, leather bindings sliding loose as he sets the metal to avoid the crash of stone echoing within his office. Sword and shield placed firm at his bookshelf, he worked to undo the satchel and lower leg covers. The only remaining article of clothing left was the red undershirt and breeches he could not convince himself to relinquish. Not tonight.

Cullen moved to her side, gingerly caressing her arms to make his presence known. Asher flinches, her breathing hard and strained, shivering at the contact. She is ashamed to be exposed, a feeling too foreign for her to comprehend. No matter how much he tried to convince her to relax for him, he knew it would never reach her. They were too inexperienced with this. Too unsure of each other's intimate company.

The ribbon that barely dangled from her shoulders suddenly gave him the solution to the dilemma. He pulled at the fabric, silk dancing over her skin with a fleeting kiss. Cullen braced himself for the proposition he was gearing to offer.

Slipping the ribbon over her cheeks, Cullen tightened the knot at her scalp, rendering her blind.

He paused, awaiting for her response. If she could not see him, perhaps Asher would not feel as humiliated in this situation? If she did not notice the heated gaze and starved desire he felt for her, perhaps she could unwind from the nerve-wracking stress?

Asher turned her head agonizingly slow in his direction. Her parted, pink lips, plush and proper, moved to form words he did not expect to hear.

"Is this what you want, as well?"

His reasoning shatters. Grasping the nape of her neck, Cullen shortened the space between them completely for the first time this evening. Asher mewls, arching to his touch as her hands roam his chest, fingers digging into his shirt. He finds it nearly impossible to breathe as he gasps for air between each contact, but he stubbornly refuses to pull away. They stumble back, or is it forward, as they sway toward his desk. Cullen parts for only a moment, leaning to scoop her thighs to lift her off the floor. Asher holds a shocked gasp as she searches to latch her hands around his neck for stability. Then he is back to her lips, this time slipping in his tongue to distract while he walks for his chair.

She is marvelous. The lavender shawl barely manages to cover her chest, teasing him with glimpses of dusty rose nipples that grind against the fabric. When he settles her into the chair, the cloth slips from one shoulder. She reaches for him, hands feeling through the air to find his familiarity, discontent with the absence. Cullen kneels down as her fingers catch his face. They slither to his scalp, intertwined in the mess of hair that is no longer presentable for the public. In all honesty, nothing about either of them is presentable for the outside world and that does something wicked for his libido. Cullen examines the sight before him, slow to capture every detail that he will surely replay for many nights to come.

Perched precisely with a slight curve in her back, Asher was regal in his seat. The chair was too broad for her figure as she leans against the wood with her legs neatly crossed. In the confines of his office, he bows before her, savoring the golden opportunity to serve. Her fingers trailed his jaw, his stubble tickling as she winced at the sensation. Everything must have been magnified for her, what with her lack of sight. Asher stopped at his lower lip, thumb applying pressure ever so gently. She adjusts to angle for him.

This was the second time she initiated a kiss. Her hair spilled forward as it lightly brushed his cheek. Unlike her first attempt, this kiss was soft, a soothing press meant to be shared between lovers. Asher sighs into him, relaxing her muscles to allow her instinct to take command. Behind the window of his office, the wind howled loudly, colliding with the glass to cause it to shake. A warning that their time was limited.

His hands reached to her knees. Gently rubbing the skin, he tests her resolve. Cullen synchronized his movements to the second, spreading apart her legs as he pushed forward their kiss until she was pressed firm to the chair. Parting, he leans back against his inner will to witness this spectacle. Her lips are swollen, gingerly gasping for air and hair strands clinging to the corner of her mouth. The make-shift blindfold ends hang from her shoulder, traveling down the middle of her heaving chest as the plum color shines brilliantly against her pale skin. Then he notices the slight roll of her hips trying to figure out how to conform to this new position. And his lower half tightens.

If he had to pick one part of her body that he cherished the most, Cullen would undeniably chose her hips. This was the part of her that remained defined the most even when wrapped in layers of clothing. A constant tease on his self-restraint, the sway of her waist only enhanced the shape for his viewing pleasure whenever she walked through the halls. He was certain that Asher was never aware of the consequences her movement possessed over his groin. And when he dipped to shower her hip with bruising kisses, she squirms with frenzied panic, her voice high with wanton pitch.

His thumbs slip into the confines of her small clothes, tugging to completely reveal her hip bone. A chill runs through him. Cullen wastes no time exploring this discovery, inhaling her scent and biting down gently on the curve. Perversion plagues his mind. What would he do to watch her swell, growing large from the child he wishes to gift her. A sense of pride creeps up his chest. Everyone would know. The Circle. Kirkwall. Free Marches. Thedas. Everyone would see the fruit of their passion. Then the dread of reality sinks in. Everyone would know. The Circle. Kirkwall. Free Marches. Thedas. And everyone would rip it all to shreds. He forces himself to focus back.

She is convulsing, hands gripping rigid on the armrest. It is all too much for her and Cullen is debating where to stop, his logic beating down the door to his impulse that continues to hunger for her core. With the last of his discipline wavering, Cullen jerks away.

And she's whimpering.

Please, Maker, _no_.

The sound that leaves her is paradise. "Don't go."

He musters every inch of strength left within him to turn away. If he does not look at her, maybe his control will return. This was enough. She was enough. More than enough. She was magnificent. There may not have been any concrete words to express love but her actions were loud and clear. Asher allowed to be swept away by his devotion. She entrusted herself to him, following along his requests without so much as a peep of protest. Cullen prayed to Andraste that this was not a dream, his fears lurking in the distance as his heart sank to his gut. If this was all staged by a demon, praying on his fancy for her, he might not survive the horror of reality. But the Asher they conjured for him in the past is an inadequate copy to the real thing. Beyond comparison.

Her unusual wiggle prompts his attention and Cullen nearly chokes on his breath.

She is pulling the black fabric over her legs. Those legs. The legs that pointed to the ceiling before coming down with immaculate control. The legs that he wanted to stretch over his shoulders as he thrusts her into the bed sheets. Those legs.

Cullen makes the final decision to please his sanity.

His hands curve around her bottom before yanking forward. Asher lets out a heavenly groan, her arms reaching behind to catch her balance. She is now barely over the edge of the chair, everything displayed for the world. His world. Only his. The folds of her skin are just as he imagined, complete with a drop of glistening lust. Relief washes over him like a wave of crushing waters on the Wounded Coast. He is not alone in this; she is eager for him as much as he is for her. The evidence could not be more blatant, presented perfectly for his appetite.

He glanced up. The shawl is gone, a pool of lavender beneath her arched back, with sweat painting her chest. She is the sort of art that men and women across Thedas would kill to witness. And she does not even realize how much her carved landscape is euphoric for him. The only missing piece on this canvas is the forested green that hides behind her bravery. He doesn't have to try hard to envision the affection in her eyes. He's seen it already, the longing intrigue that conforms to his fantasies. Back then, however, he used her moment of vulnerability to damage until she broke. Now, he had the chance to mend that mistake. This was his redemption.

Cullen nuzzled himself into her thigh, breath lingering over the heat. He placed two fingers at either side. Pausing, he observed her reaction.

This was his speciality. There were two types of Templars - aggressors and tacticians. One dived into battle like a bear ripping into the throat of his prey. Metal clashing, even the shield became a weapon to pummel an opponent to the ground before striking the final blow. The other waited, analyzing their surroundings and calculating the best outcome, finding a weakness to exploit. The objective was to overpower the enemy with precision and finesse after a brutally long game of cat and mouse. Cullen belonged to the latter school. Greagoir and the superiors took note of his endurance early in his Chantry training, despite the seemingly short attention, that they molded into a warrior capable of overturning the favor on the battlefield. With time, Cullen learned that there was application to this method in his every day.

Altering pressure between each finger, he studied Asher with the same concentration as he would any assailant. She trembled into a wider arch. Her head leaned against the wood of the chair's back, mouth agape. The sounds alone could make him weep. Her voice was fragile, a rare delicacy that he indulged like the nobles of Orlais feasted on fine dinning. And virgins. He smiled to himself.

"What's so funny?" She breathed out. The pull of his cheek must have registered over her skin.

Cullen gave a small peck to her thigh in quiet reassurance. "Nothing, dove. I'm simply enchanted by you."

Before Asher could make a reply, he snuck another hand up. Fingers pressed beneath the first hand, he kneaded around her opening. His trap was a success.

Her hands rushed to her mouth, muffled gasps burned his thoughts as she lost all stability. She balanced herself solely with the pivot of her crown, unable to thrash at his touch. Cullen compressed slightly more, roaming his fingers as he teased to slip inside. In return, she creamed so much for him, her core naturally preparing for something he could not provide tonight. Adjusting to move closer, Cullen prompts his forehead to her stomach. The curls grazed his neck while he worked diligently to find a suitable rhythm.

His voice was hoarse, a demand threatening. "I need you to scream."

No response. She was just as stubborn when she wanted to be and Cullen was willing to test how much she could hold out before caving. He craved to watch her fracture. There was something to be said about the power he wielded over her satisfaction. But truthfully, she was the one who controlled their dance. Without her consent, Cullen would most likely be in bed by now and engaged in combat with different kind of demons while he slept. If Asher truly did not want this, then his dreams would remain just that... dreams.

He applied more pressure.

Her soft cries were tempting, though growing louder, it was still not enough to his fill his amusement. He growled low. "More, little dove, _more_."

The fierce pounding of her heart reverberated throughout her body. Cullen sensed the beat echo at his skin. She was close. So close. She must have been chasing that heat to find pleasure in his torture. The bulge below strained against his pants. The lack of attention was harrowing but knowing she was near her relief kept his mind focused on achieving that goal. He could settle the discomfort later, in privacy. Now, he needed to see this through.

Asher collapsed her chest in, slouching into the seat to release the tension at her neck. Then Cullen felt her legs swing around, heels digging harshly into his back. As soon as she established her altered position, Asher gave her hips a maddening roll. The moan that followed was celestial. His vision turned white. There was only one thing left on his mind.

Her taste was indescribable.

The aroma of sweet pea and delicate vanilla assaulted his senses. She was a mess, nearly unwound and soaked, the kind of sight that the Chantry shamed him to envision, much less savor. And Maker, how generous was this dessert. She was generous. Everything, she gave him everything and Cullen did not dare to let one drop slip from him. Her pants were a sinful melody, hitting notes that made him dizzy with excitement. _More. More_.

Then his tongue pushed over her opening. He grasps her thighs but it is too late.

Asher bucks her hips and he slips in.

And then she falls. Her voice cascades in stunning screams.

Asher is an addiction he cannot quit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy guacamole.


	23. Birds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flock together.

**9:32 Dragon**

* * *

Essays stared back at her with empty intent. Asher sat in her classroom, her brain scattered in every direction as she attempted to focus on her duties. She managed to avoid him that morning, waking up early to snatch her meal before the rest of the Circle had a chance to start their day. Asher retreated behind the stacks of paperwork on her desk. As the morning progressed, it did not take long before her students began to pile into the lecture hall to continue their studies. And by routine, once the sun set, the nearby halls grew quiet as Templars and Mages alike retreated to their quarters. Now Asher struggled to hone in on correcting the student essays on primal magic over the embarrassment that haunted her thoughts.

By the time her breathing calmed, Cullen managed to reach around to slide the fallen shawl over her shoulders. She remained in the chair, facing forward without her vision. His fingers brushed against the heated skin of her collarbone. Asher leaned into the touch. She did not know what sort of expression he made. Much less, how much control she had lost over her own demeanor. The sounds she heard were the only saving grace that allowed her imagination to fill the gaps.

His voice was constantly strained, holding back something that neither of them was ready to explore just yet. At times his pitch was a melody, safely encouraging her to proceed and give into the moment. Other times she caught the rasp hunger in his words as carnal desire emerged from deep within his intentions. But it was not terrifying to hear him like this. Not once did she fear placing her trust with Cullen.

Reaching up to the ribbon, Asher pulled gently at the fabric. She undid the loose knot at the back of her head, prompting it to fall onto her chest. No matter how humiliated she might have felt, Asher was determined to face him after all was said and done. She did not wish to duck away and scurry out of his office without voicing the one thing that kept screaming in her mind.

He was still kneeling before her, gaze averted and blushing raw. Cullen placed his hands on her knees after he had pulled her legs together. His usually groomed hair was now ruined and the simplicity of his current wardrobe was stark against the crafted appearance of his Templar uniform. She took note of the dark circles beneath his eyes that were weighing him down. It was an uncanny revelation to see him grow closer in Greagoir’s image by the day.

Asher grazed her fingertips to his skin, carefully tracing around the upper cheeks. He stiffened and instantly his stare shot to her, face growing pale. Her lips parted slightly, pausing on the thought to formulate words. “What about you?”

“I’m alright.” Cullen barely managed to blurt out. His skin was reddening once more. “You do not need to worry yourself over that.”

She asked the following without skipping a beat, “Why not?”

“I will take care of it myself.” He broke eye contact. “Later.”

Asher sensed his grip tighten at her knees. She could tell that his discomfort was growing as Cullen struggled to keep his composure. She hesitated at the sight, careful to not push him over the edge. He had been so gentle and accommodating for her in contrast that she suddenly sensed the fear of hurting him plague her mind. Leaning in, Asher slipped her hands to his neck and prompted Cullen to look her way. She was determined to do this correctly.

Her lips were initially cautious to his, the pecks equally delicious and delirious as Cullen obediently followed along. Her fingers massaged into his skin with tender precision. But between each parting gasp, as Asher worked to soothe his nerves, she could not control her own steady heartbeat from synchronizing to his thrashing one. Then she registered his hands slipping below her and Asher was lost in the sudden weightlessness.

Cullen hoisted her at his waist, chest pressing flush to her as he moved around the chair. Asher nearly saw stars when a shock ran through her spine. The cold press of the window was harsh against her back.

Asher’s voice caught in her throat. She clung to his warmth as her body jerked forward to escape the chilling pain. Cullen pressed back much to her demise, crushing her between the bitter sensations of maddening heat and piercing cold. Her mind was drifting, thoughts emptying once more as her heart elated to new heights. This kiss was different. It was savage but not erratic. If they were exploring the hunger that finally burst at the seams before, now their movements were perfectly aligned to leave them both with just enough breath to function. Everything was meticulous with intensity.

It took all of her concentration to arch, her back elongating and palms pressing against his shoulders to break their contact. Her vision clouded, still high from the adrenaline. Just being near him made her a mess. At the very least, he did not appear any more in control either. Cullen held onto her hips tightly with his own lower half pressed flush to keep her balanced against the window.

"It's late." He struggled to conjure proper sentences. "We should get you back... shortly."

"No. I should go on my own." Asher could sense the reality of their situation sink in. "Less people to grow suspicious."

"I don't want you walking the Gallows by yourself." Cullen pressed his head to hers, eyes closing to inhale deep.

Asher inched to him in return. His breath glided over her skin causing her reasoning to waver. She grappled with the fantasies that continued to seduce her thoughts. "I can manage to my quarters without getting caught. I've done it enough before when leaving the library. I'll be fine."

"I don't want another Templar catching you." He protested in a near whisper. "I don't want you getting into trouble."

Her reply matched his tone. "No Templar is going to see me."

"Don't let them." Cullen murmured softly to her ear. "Don't ever permit any of them see you... not like this."

Asher felt a lump form at the base of her throat. "Like what?"

His response involved stealing another kiss. Throaty and guttural, he moaned his frustrations as he ground his hips closer. Asher gripped the fabric of his shirt and followed his lead. He did not need to explain it, not when everything was exposed and obvious for the world to witness. Even at the brink of insanity and hindered by his own unachieved desires, Cullen remained vigilant and caring in his approach, curbing all of his explicit enthusiasm to adapt to her lack of confidence. He did not push too far, pry too deep, or rip open anything she was not ready to reveal. He had cherished the trust she granted him and Asher was starting to fully understand the significance of this connection.

Pulling away, Cullen kept his stare directly focused on her. Her breathing stalled, anticipation building.

"Some people say that doves mate for life." He broke the silence. "When I think about how some of our Templars look at you, I am reminded that you are not tied to anyone... not even this Circle."

Asher halted, raw fear spreading over her heart. There was no prior indication that hinted he knew of her phylactery. If this was merely a play on words, her paranoia was going to give her away if she was not careful.

Continuing without pause, Cullen did not appear to notice her mental crisis. "But even though I recognize that you thrive in an environment with the freedom to pursue your studies and engage with your students, I cannot help but wish to permanently pluck your feathers if that meant you would never leave my side."

Her pulse roared.

"You are a bird that flutters with the changing winds." Cullen smiled a bit to himself, avoiding her sharpened stare. "And despite whatever the world may throw at you to falter your path, I cannot bring myself to rob you of your future as the Circle does."

He bit his lower lip.

"I'm sorry. I should not say any more."

She was eased her to her feet. Carefully adjusting so that Asher could find her balance, he released her from his hold once she stabilized. Cullen took a step back. The lingering heat was dissipating by the second and Asher swore her legs attempted to move on their own to chase it, if only to feel it one second longer. Hearing her silence, Cullen turned back to find her discarded clothes. He walked around the table to pick up her robes that were now scattered across his office floor.

His broad back was prominent even without the Templar uniform imposing authority. Many things changed over the last two years. They changed. He was no longer the same, awkward Templar initiative that fumbled over his words at her presence, disobeying Greagoir's imposing commands, or allowing his emotions to get the better of his maturity. Now he was the Kirkwall Knight-Captain, delegating his own orders over other Templars, training the new recruits, and acclimating to a position of power within his ranks. Sure, his sentences still stumbled at times but not the extent she had once been familiar with.

Back then, Asher would have replied with the same uncoordinated finesse. Stranded in her dreams, turning a blind eye to reality, and mindlessly studying to achieve a naive ideal, Asher was just as adolescent as he was. Then the demonic siege on Kinloch Hold occurred and the cruelty of the Mage-Templar debacle settled in, twisting and spiraling her thoughts. Something fractured.

But that did not keep him away, no matter how much the sharp edges pained him in the process. It would have been easier to be vicious. Many things would be easier over the kindness he continued to exude.

Cullen turned back to look in her direction. The sheepish grin spread across his face as he attempted to hide the embarrassment, to pass it off without looking the part of a fool. Perhaps he felt this uneasiness because she was still utterly naked before him.

Regardless, it was her turn to be the idiot.

She took a mighty breath, air sucking in and muscles tensing. Asher straightened her back despite the nerves that shot through her system, threatening to cause her legs to give in and collapse.

"Cullen."

Her voice trembled with each syllable.

"I love you."

His mouth fell open, unsure how to respond to the sight before him for a second time that night. Asher gathered herself to move forward. She needed to voice this properly.

"But you do not need to reply right this instant." She paused, noticing the irony. "I will wait for you."

Asher could barely remember the end of their evening. She managed to take her robes to slip in and out the door before he had a chance to piece a sentence. The rush of cold wind assaulted her senses. Avoiding the nightly patrol along the way, she stumbled into her room only to collapse face first into the bedsheets. Asher was not certain she was ready to hear his answer. She could not trust her heart to bear the rejection just yet. And had he decided to accept her feelings, she was sure that there were no nerves left to handle onslaught of emotions that would ensue. Not tonight at least.

Now she sat at her desk. Perhaps it was for the better that she managed to avoid Cullen for the entire day - not when she was still high-strung and neurotic at the mere thought of him. Leaning against her chair, Asher threw her arms over her head to revel in the shame.

_When I'm around you, it's quiet... and calm... and... safe._

There is no persisting tick. There is no nagging feeling of emptiness. There is no pain left to hurt.

This was getting out of hand.

Asher stared at the ceiling above as the room began to spin. Her lack of sleep was starting to affect her wellbeing. Three hours of anxious tossing and turning did not leave her refreshed. Assignments could wait. She needed to take a bath and roll under her covers to replenish. It would be unfair to her students if Asher did not remain in ideal shape, despite what her emotional state was. Her lids felt heavy, closing for a brief moment to savor the quiet calm.

That night her mind drifted to Kinloch Hold.

She remembered the early Summer heat that basked across Lake Calenhad. Asher sat under the shade of a maple tree whose bark etched into the crevasse of her back. The new tome in her lap was gifted to her by Wynne earlier that week to continue fostering her fascination with restoration magic. As Asher skimmed the text diligently, her right shoulder grew heavier under Jowan's sleeping form. He managed to doze off while chattering about another discovery he made in the library, his own words lulling him in the process.

The chirp of nearby Spring Peppers magnified as the natural world around them sang a harmony that they rarely had the chance to listen. Other Apprentices were running about, too preoccupied with the nice day to care what they were doing. Likewise, the Templars were too busy keeping watch over everyone to so much as make a snide statement or bat an eye their way. In that moment, no one cared who or what they were. No one bothered to disrupt their little world. They were barely twelve and unaware of what sort of future was in store for them.

Asher then watched Jowan slit his wrist as blood burst to shield him from the Templars who hurled themselves at him. The unshakable fear in his eyes carved into her mind as the last image she had of him before his escape from the Circle. She bawled that night in the dungeon. It did not matter what fate the Knight Commander was going to choose for her when Asher was already dead with her best friend ripped from her clutches. The First Enchanter congratulated her bravery and dedication to the Circle but the guilt that ate at her conscience for her betrayal was unbearable.

And so she mourned for her lost family, knowing well that she would never cross paths with Jowan. The heavy pull over her heart eased only when the passing Enchanters whispered of his encounter with the Hero of Ferelden. Then could she continue hoping that he was going to be alright on his own. That he was going to make it. The sheer relief was enough to lift her spirits for a brief moment. Maybe with time he could forgive her. Or at the very least, forget her.

Asher opened her eyes to the surrounding darkness. There was a dampness on her cheeks that created a trail to the back of her neck.

She found herself laying in the bed and tucked into her blanket. Confused and slightly dazed, she sat up slowly to adjust to this change. Asher reached for the covers over her legs as she felt the lack of shoes that were removed for her. The winter chill stagnated in her room as Asher curled the blanket around her shoulders. A powerful shiver reverberated through her body. Then she recalled a similar night. Her eyes darted to the corner, hoping to find that familiar scene.

But the room was empty. No one was sitting at her bedside. She was all alone. Asher eased the tension in her spine. If not Cullen, it would not be unheard of to have another Templar carry her back to her quarters. She wasn't past curfew plotting her escape, after all. Grading papers was not going to sentence her to Tranquility.

Asher allowed herself to fall back onto the mattress. The plush pillow hugged her head as it coerced her to return to the Fade for the evening. There was no point in trying to figure out this mystery when the morning sun had yet to break the horizon. Asher turned to her side, pulling her hand underneath the pillow.

Her fingers nudged below her head, searching for the warm pulse that radiated behind the thin glass of her phylactery. It was dangerous to simply leave it under such an obvious hiding location but there was also comfort in feeling that rhythm soothe the nightmares. Asher palmed the vial, giving it a reassuring squeeze to calm the tears that were still spilling out. If she cried any more, the migraine would rear its head soon.

Then she spotted it.

Lying prim on top of her bedside table, a single folded piece of parchment stared back at her. There was no wax seal on it nor did it appear to come from an official source.

Asher reached across the bed, noting the tremble in her fingers. The smooth surface tickled her skin as Asher slid the note off the table. She fumbled to open the fold with one hand, the other still grasping tight over the vial. The moon had been obstructed that night as Asher squinted to make out the scribble inside.

A single sentence scratched in shaky handwriting splayed across the sheet.

Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

_I love you, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is the second shortest update I've written, but I cannot tell y'all how many times I started, finished, and scrapped this chapter for the past two months. I kept going back and forth between who should tell the experience from which point of view. Ultimately, I felt that it was time to start softening Asher again. Considering that she's been in a downward spiral since the end of Chapter 8 (and prior!), that's nearly two years of crap. And we all know it's going to get worse in Kirkwall... and Thedas in general... : - :


	24. Fragile Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is faced with realities.

**9:34 Dragon**

* * *

The Viscount’s Keep was a building that raised its arching pillars to the heavens. If the Gallows was a stronghold, then the Keep resembled an elegant castle that oversaw all civil matters within the city. Cullen walked through the entrance doors to be greeted by the scent of burning candles and incense. Noblemen and women gathered in small groups to chatter low about their place in line to see the Viscount while the Seneschal called for them from the upper veranda every few minutes.

His Templar armor echoed against the halls with each passing step. Cullen headed up the stairs and toward the City Guard command. A rather unusual patrol for him, but this was the request sent by his Knight-Commander. The Qunari “problem” was becoming a rather sore spot for Meredith and she wanted to upkeep their relations with the City Guard to ensure that they would not be overrun with religious zealots. This was one of the few and rare times that he saw Templars and Guardsmen work alongside amicably without overstepping each other’s boundaries.

The current Captain of the Guard was a conundrum for some. Aveline Vallen was not of Kirkwall origin. Having fled from Ostagar with the Hawke family during the Fifth Blight, many saw her rise to power as an assault on the Free Marchers’ way of life. Then it was discovered that her family stemed from Orlais with a former chevalier for a father. In truth, Cullen appreciated the way Aveline casted aside her heritage so to not allow her bias to cloud her judgement at work. She did not care where one hailed from. The law was equally enforced to all criminals. He felt the same call to duty as a Ferelden citizen living among the Marchers. He respected that resolve.

Cullen turned the corner to head for the barracks. The guardsmen scurried past him, eyeing his every move as he made his way for the Captain’s office. Just as he was about to lay his knuckle to the door, his ears caught a painfully familiar voice behind it.

“He says this ‘saar-qamek’ formula was stolen.” Jaron paused to something that was asked of him before continuing, “I don’t know… maybe he did take it?”

Cullen gave one solid knock and the party inside instantly silenced.

“Come in.” Aveline’s invite was stern.

He propped open the door, ducking inside to not allow any other visitor to get the false idea. Cullen shut the entrance behind him as his eyes wandered to the group before him.

Leaning over her desk with one hand balancing his weight, Jaron stared back to Cullen with a goofy grin spread wide from cheek to cheek. Aveline was sitting behind the pile of neatly-stacked papers with her customary frown that was solely reserved for Hawke. Standing by the door to his right, Cullen spotted a peculiar elven man with a foreboding expression intent on him. Lounging on the guest couch, Varric helped himself to the books that he had picked from a nearby shelf. But among the group, it was the gentleman in loose robes that jerked upright from the seat next to Varric that made him most alert. There was an inexplicable panic in his eyes that quickly turned into unforeseen anger.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Captain Vallen.” Cullen’s throat felt dry as he croaked. “Knight-Commander Meredith sent me for a report.”

“Yes, she mentioned it during our last meeting.” Aveline rose from her seat. “I was wondering when I’d see you. It just so happens that I am quite popular today.”

“I can wait outside.”

“No.” She held up a hand. “We were actually discussing the situation with the Arishok. And you need to report on the Qunari business. This is ideal.”

Cullen took a step forward, mindful of the eyes from each corner of the room that kept on him. He broadened his shoulders and took in a deep breath. “Our patrols have increased out on the Wounded Coast as of late. There are Qunari mercenaries out there who conscript fleeing Mages.”

“You’re not the only one with that concern, Knight-Captain.” Aveline shook her head. “We have received reports that a number of Kirkwall inhabitants have converted to the Qun. Most did so in hopes of avoiding the law but there is a growing rally for a religious overturn from the Andrastian Chantry. If the Arishok remains here, we will only see more upheaval of our order.”

“And it certainly does not help that the Viscount’s son has gotten himself involved in this.” Jaron piped in, “I mean… the kid has every right to do what he wants. But as a figure of authority, he does have influence over Kirkwall, even without intending to.”

From the corner of the room, Varric snorted. “You should listen to your own advice.”

Aveline frowned in suit.

“If I might add,” Cullen placed his hands behind his back, still keeping his attention on the man to his right. “The Knight-Commander is not happy to hear that you have meddled in Templar affairs. I speak of this on my own accord, but while you have been a pain in her side, Mistress Hawke has been an exemplary apprentice within the Circle.”

“Curly…” Varric leaned forward with a warning in his tone.

Jaron crossed his hands across his chest, a deviant smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. “And while my dear sister continues to develop her magical talents, I’ll be over here, sharpening my blade and waiting for the right moment.”

Varric slid off the couch. “Hawke…”

“I have kept my promise to keep Bethany safe under my watch and she has been properly keeping to her duties as a Circle Mage.” Cullen held his ground. “But if you continue to behave so recklessly, it will be your own actions that will negatively reflect on her. I cannot guarantee her safety if you are jeopardizing it.”

Jaron took a step forward. “Are you using my sister to threaten me?”

“On the contrary,” Cullen moved closer. “You are the one threatening your sister’s wellbeing.”

The man at the door moved to close the entrance while the one at the couch walked around to Jaron’s side. Varric took two jumping strides to place himself in the middle, hands raised and a nervous smile present.

“Enough!” Aveline’s voice roared across the room, her fist slamming on the desk harshly. “I will not have grown men squabble like children. All of you - out of my office!”

The snarl alone could scare away any man. Jaron stormed out the room first with Varric scurrying on his heels. The anger paired with irritation fumed from his ears. While their group proceeded toward the grand hall, Cullen averted toward the barracks, in hopes of avoiding the cloud of fury behind the desk. It would be useless to engage with Jaron when the man clearly had no sense of self preservation. Sometimes he questioned why he continued to be acquainted with someone who walked the line between law and criminality so carelessly. If it wasn't for Bethany, Cullen was certain that he would have ended this unorthodox and highly confusing relationship much sooner. While Jaron sought to undermine the Templar Order at every chance, Bethany was diligent in her studies after she was taken under Asher's guidance. It was a mystery to him to see such two polar opposite siblings.

Turning to the mess hall, Cullen made his way to one of the tables to cool off. The surrounding guardsmen had returned to their duties following the outburst without paying much mind to him.

Bethany's growing potential was praised by many of her superiors. Even though she was trained under an apostate, Bethany was excelling at everything she was tasked with despite her lack of fundamental academic knowledge. The practical skill she wielded alone had allowed her to exceed beyond her peers who only knew of textbook incantations without any real-world experience. Some Templars had grown cautious of her, constantly scrutinizing her efforts in hopes of breaking her spirit. Thankfully, Bethany was seemingly unfazed by their insecurities while she worked to keep up with Asher's research as her apprentice.

And Asher... well, she did not falter far from her intended course. Still determined to succeed the First Enchanter and develop her research in Force Magic, Asher's late nights were severely weighing down on her health. The only saving grace was her change in attitude. The wall she kept up to him had finally started to crumble as she took his scolding and concern for her to heart more often. It did not happen overnight either; though that night definitely left a huge dent.

Their secret relationship was still speculated by some within the Order who had nothing to go on but idle rumors. There were only two people that knew the legitimacy of their status and neither had it in them to spill the truth. Loraine was the first to encourage their relationship after Cullen decided to place his trust in him. Sure, there was gloating involved but as long as Cullen did not show favor for her in his job, Loraine did not see a reason to turn him in. Bethany, on the other hand, was a rather vocal critic. When Asher did not show up to have breakfast that morning, it was Bethany who assaulted his gleeful meal-time with probing questions. He still recalled her words, clear as day in his mind.

 _I shouldn't have said anything to her._ Bethany had groaned with her head hung low. _Maker, I never expected her to end up in your office in the middle of the night. You're lucky no one spotted either of you._

_How do you know she came to my office if no one spotted us?_

He was awarded with the infamous Amell scowl. _Asher may be good at concealing her emotions but it doesn't take a genius to see through you. I don't know how Meredith hasn't noticed._

He wondered that too at times. Greagoir was remarkably perceptive while Meredith rarely mentioned anything about his personal life.

It had been nearly two years since that conversation. Even though they both had made clear what they felt, it was not as if they could engage one another easily within the Gallows, after all. The divide between their status was still an obstacle and finding a moment of solace proved more difficult than he imagined. But no matter how much he yearned to make his fantasies into reality, without any success, Cullen preferred that they exchange a few short minutes together than none at all. And better yet, now he did not have any doubt that Asher did not feel the same for him.

She softened with time. Her teaching remained strenuous but even her students noticed the gentle approach to their studies. She cherished every moment spent with them, every question they asked, and every problem they shared. Asher may not have opened up to the other Enchanters as much but at least she no longer avoided them completely. Orsino made mention to it as well despite her aversion. It was as if the old Asher was resurfacing again after being buried by the pain that once masked her exterior. She smiled more. Laughed more. And, most importantly, she blushed more. The tender flush of her fluster was undeniably addictive.

"I hear the Captain had a fit with you and Hawke."

Cullen jumped in his seat. His head snapped up to see a guardsman settle in the seat across from him. He had seen her before in passing. Sergeant Melindra was one of Aveline's head patrols in Lowtown, seamlessly blending into the crowd and collecting information on the fly. She had begun gathering prestige among the ranks as the Templars took note of her hard work.

"But knowing the Captain, she won't stay mad at you or Hawke for very long." She chuckled under her breath. "The Captain values her contacts in the Order and she can see Hawke's genuine intention to help Kirkwall... despite his rather brash methods."

"It is still unbecoming of me to anger Jaron like that." Cullen sighed. "Especially in Captain Aveline's presence. She already has a lot on her plate to deal with and I acted quite childish."

"You're absolutely correct about that, Knight-Captain." Melindra nodded. "I'm the one that has to put up with her once you leave."

He gave a small smile, "My apologies."

Melindra reached around to set a paper before him, sliding it across the table. "The Captain asked me to gather common talk on the Qunari within Lowtown to pass along to you and the Knight-Commander. That is where we've seen the most trouble, unfortunately."

Cullen grabbed the sheet, his own eyebrow raising. "Not Darktown?"

"The people in Darktown don't have the time to ponder on Kirkwall politics. They're too worried on where their next meal will come." She waved her hand. "And the thugs are too busy bickering among the carta groups to notice."

"And Hightown folks are too invested in the Chantry to be swayed by the Qun, I take it?" Cullen added as his eyes scanned the document.

"Precisely." She leaned back against her chair. "I've got to admit though, Hawke's residence up there has left a number of them on their toes. He's an impulsive force that has infiltrated and disrupted their high-class confidentiality. They can't conduct their business as usual without him butting in and causing trouble."

"Well... at least he's being useful with that." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Though the nobles keep complaining to Meredith and she is not a woman of patience."

"Trust me, they've complained to the City Guard plenty as well." A laugh erupted from her.

Cullen folded the sheet of paper to place in his pocket. It seemed that Jaron had a talent for being a pain in everyone's rear. "Sometimes I wonder if Kirkwall simply does not care to solve its problems. It's a never-ending cycle, honestly."

Melindra straightened in her seat. Her eyes focused on him suddenly.

"I know that the Guard is not supposed to get involved, but it's not something that one can avoid in Lowtown... not when people talk the way they do at the Hanged Man."

He looked back up with confusion in his expression that she quickly picked up on.

"I mean... the Mage situation." Melindra lowered her voice, leaning over the table. "The people are aware of the increase in Mages in the Gallows. And some have been considering a rebellion of sorts in hushed whispers. Then there are those that go out of their way to smuggle Mages from Kirkwall, placing themselves against Chantry law."

Cullen stiffened.

"When Hawke's little sister was conscripted to the Circle, there was a rather loud opposition of voices that deemed it unjust to lock away someone who has dedicated so much effort to the Ferelden refugees."

She paused, noticing his changed demeanor.

"And then there's the rumored Healer who has taken care of the poor without charging a single coin for his services. Some are wondering whether it is right to condemn Mages to a prisoned life when so many of them have been helping the people of Kirkwall."

Cullen remained silent.

"I recognize that as a Templar it is in your training to question the efforts of every Mage in the hopes of preventing demonic corruption," Melindra lowered her eyes to the table. "But even you must have realized that there is a changing attitude. People across various walks of life are starting to challenge the Chantry. Kirkwall is questioning the treatment of Mages."

"Sergeant."

His voice came with a chill that caused her to flinch.

"Forgive me if I sound rude or unwittingly forward." He continued with a low rumble in his words. "No matter how much the Mages or the supporters of Mages might believe that they have been treated unfairly by the law, at the end of the day, their entire existence is a threat to the common man.

"When given the opportunity to seize power, there will always be those that will use it to destroy the peace within society. The difference between a person with wealth or sheer brute force that can command others and a Mage is that the Mage will always resort to unnatural means."

Melindra shifted in her spot, averting his gaze.

Cullen proceeded, "Blood magic is an abomination and it will bring about horrors that you cannot possibly imagine. Men will be tortured, broken, and defiled in ways that only a demon could deem righteous. If you are being swayed by this belief that a Mage is perfectly innocent in their nature, then you are turning a blind eye to reality. The Fade can corrupt and taint any Mage, regardless how virtuous of a person they may be. And I am not willing to take the risk to allow that to happen again. I would think that you, of all people as a protector of the law, would understand that."

It wasn't that he did not notice it, Cullen simply did not wish to ponder the thought. Hearing people weigh the possibility of reinventing their status would allow him to pursue a future with Asher. Maybe he could then retire in the countryside, tending to a farm with the woman he treasured who would spend the rest of her life in his care. If she was not bound to the Circle, there could be an option for her to lead a regular life among the people, away from the scrutiny of the Chantry. She could experience all of the joys of life. And it wouldn't surprise him if she dedicated herself to help lead other Mages into proper assimilation within society.

But the world is not meant to be fair.

While there was no doubt in his mind that Asher would not fall to corruption, he could not say the same for other Mages. Some did not possess her solid resolve and unyielding discipline. Others would seek to ascend the societal ladder by exploiting the system with their talents, ultimately harming the people close to them. And without fail, there would be those that will succumb to perversion of the mind to lead a life like the savages in Tevinter. Thedas would fall into chaos. The Mages had to be restrained for everyone's safety. After all, the suffering of a few for the prosperity of the many was reason enough to continue this torment. He was invested in it, just as much as they were, completely aware that his own happiness would never be attained if she remained chained to the system.

"I'm sure you must have heard of what occurred in the Ferelden Circle by now." Cullen spoke in near-whisper. "It only takes one Mage with a charismatic message to carry out that amount of pain. Think about what will happen if we take away the precautions and restraints on all of them. The magnitude is unfathomable."

The silence between them sunk in.

He instantly felt regret for unleashing so much frustration on her. It was an innocent observation on her part and Cullen did not rationally consider where she was coming from. Melindra did not interact with Mages directly but she did listen to the people. As a City Guard, it was her responsibility to care for Kirkwall and address all of its concerns. He admired her dedication and he had crushed that effort simply because he was unsatisfied with the realities that he was faced with. It was not right.

Before he could conjure a way to ease the tension, Melindra glanced back his way with a rebuttal he was not expecting to hear. The questions that followed stunned him.

"Would you say the same if your own child was a Mage?"

Cullen stalled, his thoughts colliding and crashing into a muddled mess.

"Would you give up your own blood to the Circle, under the supervision of an unknown order, to never see it again?"

His mind blanked.

"Could you honestly face the mother of your child after sacrificing it to the law?"

Cullen did not know how to reply as he stared back, mouth agape and lost to the statements before him.

His resolve was fractured.

That was a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melindra asking the real questions here.


	25. The Downfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen suspects disorder within the Order.

**9:34 Dragon**

* * *

The hallway was chillingly silent against the boots that hit the stone floor, echoing a pitched tone to its walls. Cullen led the group of Templars forward with Loraine sweeping behind. His heart hammered against his rib cage. The news was like a slap that hit him dead center across the cheek, leaving his mind scattered of any coherent thoughts. Following on his heel, Jaron stalked behind with little room between them. His expression was solemn, eyes void of life and unfocused to their surroundings. They turned the corner for the stairs that progressed toward the dungeons.

Candles illuminated their path here as light danced idly across the rugged surface. The temperature dropped the lower they descended down the steps. All of the Templars were formally dressed, helmets donned securely as if ready for war. Once the last step was reached, Cullen pressed his hands firm to the cool surface of the dungeon's main corridor. The agonizing creak screamed to his ear.

Greeting them, Bethany was already waiting with another Templar as her escort. She made eye contact with her brother and nearly lunged forward before halting to control herself in the presence of the group. Cullen motioned for one of the Templars to open a nearby room. Jaron kept quiet.

“Loraine and I will oversee this meeting.” Cullen spoke up, his voice sounded muffled and barely audible to him. “The others will remain watch outside.”

“Yessir.” The two Templars answered in unison.

Following cue, Loraine and Bethany stepped inside the room first with Jaron following along. Cullen paused at the door, his hand clutching tightly at the wood. He watched the two men stand into proper position before closing the entrance.

Once the door sounded its seal, Bethany jumped up to give her brother a hug. The glee in her eyes was stark to the hollow emptiness that played across his face. She took note of this just as quickly, grabbing onto his shoulders and giving a rough shake.

“I can’t even begin describing how happy I am to see you! I thought the rules did not permit visitors for Mages.” She could not contain the enthusiasm that oozed in each word. “But, Jaron… Why are you so quiet?”

Jaron did not immediately reply. He placed his hands over Bethany’s, squeezing and nodding his head. “Please. I need you to sit for this.”

Bethany moved toward the empty chair across the table as he took seat in the opposite one. Panic sprung across her face. “Jaron, you’re scaring me.”

He sat straight, his hands clasping together on the table as fingers dug violently into the skin, surely bruising. Bethany reached out to hold onto them.

“What happened?” There was rapidly growing fear in her voice.

Jaron closed his eyes, head hung low. His shoulders tensed as he spoke up. “It’s mother.”

“What about mother?” Bethany nearly choked on her words. “Jaron? What happened to her? Why couldn’t she come with you?”

Cullen held his breath. He knew what was about to happen.

When the report arrived on his desk, he could not believe what he read, his mind refusing to register the facts. According to a report submitted by the City Guard, the bodies retrieved from a Lowtown foundry were dismembered and stitched into a new form while the extra parts were discarded into nearby storage units. All of the pieces belonged to women who had gone missing within Kirkwall, some for years. All victims were part of a dark magical ritual to reanimate a full body. Jaron had slaughtered the man responsible for this horrific act but the woman whose head was severed to place the finishing touches had already been murdered.

“Mother is dead.” Jaron sucked in a staggering breath, unable to look up. “She was kidnapped by a serial killer. He was called, “The Butcher of Lowtown”, and she became one of his targets.”

Bethany stiffened. Her eyes grew wide, halting to a complete stop. Cullen took note of Loraine’s posture. He was not fully aware of the details to this case, just passing whispers. Meredith ordered Cullen to keep silent in fear of news reaching Bethany prematurely. She wanted her to hear this from her family. At first it appeared as a surprisingly kind gesture on her part but Cullen quickly realized that receiving the information from a Templar could inspire her to take arms against the Order. And as much as Meredith was intent on reprimanding and placing down Mages, Bethany had no prior misbehaved record. If she were sentenced, other Mages would riot against that decision, causing a widespread panic. It was all a strategic endeavor to avoid conflict within the Gallows.

Bethany kept quiet for a moment, pondering on how to reply. He could see the thoughts formulate in her eyes, weighing out the scenario before her to make the best statement in her situation.

She finally answered with only a single question.

“Did you kill him?”

Jaron flinched. He, along with Loraine who sucked in a sharp breath, did not expect this. Cullen stared intently at Bethany's reaction.

Momentarily gathering himself, he gave a gentle nod. “Yeah. He’s dead.”

She continued without skipping a beat, “Did you make him suffer?”

Jaron clenched his jaw. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Bethany straightened her back. “Mother is proud that you stopped this madman. Her death has not been wasted.”

It was such an odd sight. Cullen analyzed both of their reactions as they continued to converse. Even if Bethany was younger, she had taken on the role of the older sibling after seeing Jaron’s broken state. While he had fallen apart, witnessing his mother pass away for a final time in his arms, Bethany would not allow her grief to weigh him down. She spoke in definitive sentences to affirm his actions and guide Jaron through his mourning. In the same moment, she held onto his hands tenderly to reassure him. But it did not take a genius to see that she was crying on the inside. Her eyes could not hide secrets.

“I’m sorry.” Jaron whispered. “I wish you had seen her one last time. I wish you were there with me.”

“I don’t think Mother would want me seeing her like that.” Bethany smiled tenderly, her lips pressed tight. “She would probably feel guilty for allowing my final memory of her to be so painful.”

They continued to reminisce about her for the remainder of their meeting. Cullen felt uncomfortable that he and Loraine had to remain on watch duty while listening in on their personal stories. It was unfair for the Hawke family to be plagued with such a prominent Mage bloodline. It was always a concern whether the next child would be born with magical talents. Then the heavy decision would come. Do you turn in the child to proper authorities to keep peace in society or hide them from the world just to savor a few moments? Their grief was always cut and isolated, unable to find solace in each other’s company for much longer.

If it made a difference, Cullen was about ready to excuse himself for one less Templar present, when he unexpectedly picked up on something that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to jolt.

“Oh, I want to tell him that everything will be fine.” Bethany perked up suddenly.

“No, I’ll let him know that you’re doing well.” Jaron fought the sadness to give her an unexpected grin. “You don’t need to worry yourself over it this time.”

The topic was changed as quickly as it was brought up. If one were to zone out, this detail would not be spotted. Loraine certainly did not appear to have noticed it as he yawned with an open mouth. Cullen could sense his pulse quickening.

This time she did not need to let him know that she was doing well. This time.

It was a known fact to the Mages that Cullen and his commanding officers reviewed all of the letters that were released from the Gallows. Out of all the Mages that wrote to the outside world, he made sure that he was the only Templar reading the letters that Bethany submitted out of respect for the Hawke family. And out of all of the letters that she wrote, the only recipient that she addressed was her mother.

But this time she did not need to worry herself to let him know that she was doing well.

Out of all the people she interacted with, there were only two Mages that Bethany was close to. The First Enchanter valued her potential and they often spent afternoons in the dinning hall enjoying their lunch and discussing the fraternity politics. He doubted that Orsino would go out of his way to bend the rules for one Mage, not with Meredith breathing down his neck at every turn. However, the other Mage Bethany trusted was her assigned mentor. This person, in contrast, would do anything for their apprentices even so far as to go against the Order law.

Cullen turned toward the door. Loraine glanced his way, slightly startled from his abrupt movement. He held up his hand, index finger pointed toward the Hawke siblings. Taking his order, Loraine remained solid in his spot as Cullen pushed open the door to walk out the room.

Two more confused Templars greeted him. Cullen stepped around them for the stairs, pausing to look over his shoulder. “Templar Loraine is still monitoring Jaron and Bethany. Remain at your post until he gives his signal.”

“Knight-Captain!” One of the Templars piped up with a quiver. “You’re leaving, sir?”

“I have to take care of something.” Cullen spoke through his teeth, stunting the two men. “Wait for Loraine’s signal.”

They answered in rehearse, “Yessir!”

Anger simmered through his body. His visions blurred as Cullen ascended the stairs, climbing up the Gallows. His knuckles clenched and turned pale, frantic blood rushing in his veins. Cullen gritted and ground his teeth harder with each step he took.

Her classes should have ended by the evening. He could even spot a few of her students shuffle out of his way as they hugged the perimeter of the hall just to avoid his thundering march. Upon reaching the top of the stairwell, he could still hear conversation within her classroom. The door was left ajar to indicate that the lecture was over but a few stragglers remained.

Cullen halted at the entryway, his chest heaving from jumping nearly four flights. Asher sat at one of the tables alongside a group of apprentices. They were pouring over a tome while she scribbled something on a parchment as an explanation. She sat on the bench with her legs curled underneath her, not minding their difference in ranks and respect. One of the students looked up. He beamed broadly.

“Knight-Captain!”

Asher glanced in his direction, pausing from her writing. Her expression was less relaxed at his sight but she smiled nonetheless. “Have you come to join our lesson?”

Cullen abruptly inhaled through his nose. His lungs burned. And in an instant, the peaceful atmosphere of her classroom shifted to panic.

“All of you, out.” He hissed in a low rumble through his teeth. “Now.”

The students froze, unsure how to interpret his response.

Among all of the Templars, they began to grow accustomed to the Knight-Captain after seeing their instructor ease around him. He often visited their lectures or invited the students to sit in and chat with him during breaks. Cullen encouraged the other Templars to follow in his example, much to Meredith’s disapproval, claiming that developing an amicable relationship with the youth would encourage less defiance in adulthood and more trust among the future generation of budding Mages. He did not blindly believe that all Mages were innocent, as he did not wish to assume that children were incapable of cruelty, but seeing their earnest desire to learn was something he was willing to foster in hopes of mending the Templar-Mage relations in Kirkwall.

Now they stared at him in disbelief and fear that crept up their spines. Guilt punched him in the gut, regretting his sudden outburst. They were, after all, still children. Still afraid of the world and hiding behind their Enchanter. Asher, on the other hand, did not permit any hesitation. She slid out of her seat, rising slowly as she kept a hand on one of her apprentice’s shoulder. Her chest broadened. The scrutiny in her eyes was hostile.

“If you wish to speak to me, _Knight-Captain_ , you can do so without threatening my students.” There was a menacing bite to her words. “They do not deserve to be subjected to your anger when they’ve done nothing wrong. I suggest you curb your attitude before you do anything stupid.”

Maker, she was terrifyingly incredible. His anger fractured within seconds, releasing all of the bottled up emotions through his escaped breath. With a few, short sentences, she could guide him to a calm that he craved amidst the Kirkwall chaos.

He cleared his thoughts, glancing at the apprentices as he carefully continued. “You’re right. I apologize. I would like to speak with your Enchanter for a moment.”

The students had begun packing their belongings by then. Without uttering a peep, they scattered out of the classroom, walking around him at the entrance. Asher remained in place, her stare intent on him without relieving any of her own anger.

“Asher,” He began as soon as he heard the last student descending down the steps, “I’m sorry.”

“I will not tolerate you making a scene in my classroom.” She quipped back before he could finish, moving forward.

“Yes, you’re right.” Cullen shrunk.

“These are my students and you will not stomp your authority over them.” Asher was nearly at arm’s length to him.

He observed her crouching figure with precision.

“Do I make myself clear?” Asher stopped.

Cullen felt his throat dry, croaking. “Yes.”

She broke their eye contact. Asher remained still, opting to stare at the floor between them. He wondered what sort of thoughts crossed her mind in that moment. Was she as disappointed in his behavior as he was? It was as if he reverted back to their time in Kinloch Hold, immature and impulsive, Cullen diverted his anger internally. Meanwhile, Asher closed herself off to him.

Without thinking twice, Cullen reached up to cup her face. His fingers ran through the hair as he leaned in to place his forehead to hers. Asher’s breathing quickened.

“I’m sorry, love.” He whispered against her skin, feeling the shiver.

Her hands reached up above his. The grip in her fingers was frantic against the cool surface of his armor. This was becoming a wonderful routine. Cullen pressed forward as his lips brushed to hers. The soft sweetness refused to get old. Asher sighed into his advance, chest heaving, and moving closer to lessen the gap. She was fragile to the touch, as if one wrong move could shatter everything.

Cullen pulled her in. Her desperate breaths in between each kiss drove him over the edge each time as they proceeded toward the wall and out of the door’s immediate line of sight. His hands traveled south once he placed her to the corner. Breaking contact, he leaned over her shoulder to press himself flush to the stone. His mind raced. He needed to know that she was not involved in Bethany’s covert operation. He wanted to make sure she was safe from this Templar-Mage debacle.

Asher placed her head to his shoulder to calm her ragged breath. They remained like this for a few fleeting moments, content in each other’s company. Her fingers traced idle patterns on his armor while he massaged the curve of her waist. It was a challenge to find time together, constantly wary of prying eyes and paranoid of who would catch them. But the opportunity to hold her was enough to keep him going for weeks.

They spent afternoons in conversation, sharing memories and exploring interests. During the day they kept it professional enough. He wanted to learn more about Asher - her favorite meals, her beloved books, and her treasured past-times. She sparkled with joy every time she recalled a text that lead her to a new discovery. The exterior may have been hardened but her spirit was reminiscent of their days in Ferelden. And Cullen could willingly give up an entire evening of paperwork just to hear that enthusiasm.

Then there had been stolen nights where they found themselves cooped up in a private space. They fumbled. A lot. Both completely embarrassed and stumbling like addicted drunks who were clawing for attention from the other. He slowly began to notice her habits. Asher preferred to kiss his temple, which usually proceeded with hungry pecks to his ear. Then her breathing hitched and she would whisper words too sinful for any civil conversation. Straddled over his thighs, Asher would cling to his shoulders for balance while her attention trailed the stubble of his jaw and down to his neck. This pattern was exhilarating regardless how much it repeated.

And when there was an evening that lasted longer than a few short minutes before the Templars began their rounds, they eagerly tested the boundaries of their comfort. With each rare moment, Cullen made his own new discovery to add to his growing collection of observations. But by far, the most spectacular one was the way he would make her shudder from just his words. She was, much to his surprise, a creature of compliments.

Pressing closer, Cullen guided her hips into him. His voice was a harsh hiss that echoed on her skin. “I should not have had that outburst, it is unbecoming of me.”

Asher ducked into his shoulder as he grasped the fabric of her robe.

“I was concerned that you might have gotten yourself involved in something...” He gave a playful bite to her ear, “Unlawful.”

Her ruin was heavenly and he yearned to push further. Asher shook her head, whimpering slightly, she grabbed hold onto him to find some sanity in this sudden assault.

Cullen could not control the smirk slipping from him. “Shh… someone will hear us if we’re not careful.”

Asher’s hand shot up to her mouth. She dug deeper, hiding the red blush of her cheeks to his cool armor.

“You’re doing great, little dove.” He traced his fingers lower, slipping into the crevasse of her legs. His whisper was a breathy sigh as he pressed to the dip. “Keep being good for me.”

Just the same, Cullen learned more about himself in the process. He was, undeniably and irrevocably possessive. And what’s worse, this dependency kept growing with each passing day. If it meant she would stay out of trouble, Cullen was willing to push in order to pull her back in and far away from the politics of Kirkwall.

He had come to terms with himself.

There was no future to be had. There was no room for innocent courtship and heated passion. There was no proposal of marriage. No quiet, countryside home on a farm in Ferelden. No child stumbling into a room early in the morning to start a new day. Everything could burn into ash without ever having a chance to ignite.

Even if there was no foreseeable ending for them to be together and the possibility of her slipping from him became a reality, Cullen would do anything in his power to steer her clear of the Mage-Templar disputes for as long as he could. With any means.

Despite their downfall.

Taking in a deep breath through his nose, Cullen leaned in to place a gentle kiss to her ear. He continued, in spite, to circle at the fabric caught between his unyielding pursuit and her core. She arched into his chest, her voice reaching a desperate high as she sought the touch to go deeper.

His mind meshed into an incoherent mess with all but one thought prevailing above all else. The single sentence he told himself he would reserve only for one person in his world. He would let her hear it for as long as they could remain inseparable. Until the Order tore them apart for good. Until the Chantry condemned them. He promised himself that Asher would know of his devotion until those words were stolen.

The hand that held the classroom door quietly pulled in to close the room to the rest of the Circle. Orsino took a silent step back toward the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ; - ; ...ta da?


	26. Everyone's Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen learns about Asher's family.

**9:34 Dragon**

* * *

The cup of tea warmed his hands as Cullen sat at the dining hall table early in the morning. The sweet aroma of peppermint sneaked in to fill his senses. His nose had been rather stuffy as of late and the tea was a pleasant welcome to clear his lungs. He observed Asher from across the table making herself comfortable on the seat with her own drink in hand. She preferred black tea with a single spoon of honey. This was another one of their routines that developed since they took the initiative. Before most of the Circle had a chance to wake up and give them curious glares, Cullen and Asher met for breakfast to spend the first hours together.

She was chipper than most people he knew. Asher was usually up before the sunrise and preparing for her day within minutes. He wondered where she found this amount of energy considering she was also the type of person to stay up late to read. But here she was, running on less than five hours of sleep and operating without a halt. Cullen, on the other hand, was not as dedicated to morning habits. While he enjoyed getting most of his paperwork done in the early hours, he also preferred the warm comfort of his blankets and a restful sleep. He smiled into his cup, eyes drawn down. If he had his way, of course, he wouldn’t mind keeping her in bed a tad bit longer. Back turned to him and deep in slumber, she would have been pressed to his chest with his arm around her waist, busy drawing patterns on her skin.

Maker, he was hopeless.

“What’s on your mind?” Asher broke his fantasies.

Cullen looked back up to her. His heart would still race even after they started getting used to each other’s company. She crouched around her cup, hands warming on the mug and cheeks slightly flushed. This sight was just as exquisite.

He gave a sheepish smirk, confidence suddenly soaring. “You.”

Asher nearly choked on her sip. Her fluster was endearing as she whispered, “You’re so ridiculous.”

He hid another smile behind his palm as he leaned in on his hand. The sunrise rays were hitting the stone floor and idly creeping along. The amount of giddy glee he felt was embarrassing him.

They spent this time sharing their thoughts. He recalled his childhood, growing up in Honnleath and exploring the mountainous woods. She spoke of her early memories of Kirkwall before coming to Ferelden and the differences she saw now. This was just as a pleasant alternative to waking up with a woman in his arms.

“I love the ocean.” Her eyes lit up. “My father would take us to the sea. I think he liked watching the waves flow back and forth.”

“Did you visit often?” Cullen took another sip of his tea, keeping his focus on her.

“We did.” Asher perked up. “We used to collect the pebbles that would wash up on the beach. Then my mother would display them on her vanity as decoration.”

He shifted in his spot.

“When I came to Kinloch Hold, I was so happy to see the lake.” She paused, attention falling to her mug. “On days when Ser Greagoir allowed us to go outside, Jowan and I would sometimes find various colored mollusk shells.”

Cullen stiffened. He knew these memories quite well. He witnessed some of them first-hand.

“Jowan’s mood would change completely for the rest of the day whenever we were allowed out.” Asher smiled wide. “Do you remember how nervous Ser Greagoir would become when the weather was sunny? Everyone was so antsy to go out to the lake.”

“Yeah.” Cullen shook his head, laughing. “He would get so stressed. And then he’d coop up in his office just to avoid the chatter to find some quiet.”

Compared to Kinloch Hold, the Kirkwall Circle was drastically different. Meredith’s head would explode if the same were permitted. The silence that followed made that quite apparent, ruining the few and precious moments that they found to avoid reality. Cullen bit the inside of his mouth, desperately searching his brain for anything to change the topic of their conversation; anything to lighten the mood.

He was too lost in his thoughts to notice her response. His hand suddenly registered soft fingertips brush against him as he jolted in his seat. Cullen flinched, his eyes roaming to her as he watched Asher’s extended arm. She avoided his gaze.

“It’s alright.” Her lips curved into a gentle smile.

Alright.

Everything and none of it was alright. The growing dispute between Mages and Templars across Thedas was ‘alright’. The Qunari situation that gripped its claws into Kirkwall affairs was ‘alright’. His confused state of a relationship and the anxious uncertainty of the future was ‘alright’. He wondered how Asher dealt with it. Did she even think on any of this? Maybe throwing herself at her studies and tirelessly working with the apprentices was her method of coping with this reality?

She traced around his knuckles, dipping into the valley and up. Asher remained quiet.

He sometimes wished they could go back. Even with Greagoir breathing down his neck, Cullen could see that the Mages there had significantly more freedom than the ones here. But perhaps it was that same privilege of freedom that allowed them to conspire a coup that shook the foundations of that Circle. If Greagoir were sterner in his approach, if he monitored them better, then perhaps the horrors that Uldred unleashed would have never occurred. And they would still be awkwardly fumbling over their words in the library without a care in the world.

Cullen closed his eyes. The sensation of her fingertips was familiar and foreign at the same time. His mind drifted, the scent of peppermint tea and her soft touch was lulling him to distant, happier thoughts.

“What about you?” Her voice jerked him back. “What was something that you enjoyed to do as a child?”

He pondered, searching his memories as Asher stared at him with careful precision. A grin creeped forth.

“My sister and I used to play chess a lot.” Cullen moved to place his thumb over her skin to trace circular patterns. “She was really good and constantly beat me at it.”

Asher leaned in. He turned to hold her hand in his. “You have siblings?”

“I do.” Cullen nodded, his eyes glancing back up to her. “The youngest of us is Rosalie. Branson is also younger than I am. I was the second child and my older sister Mia is the head.”

“There’s four of you?” She perked up. Her fingers pressed to his palm.

“Yes. Mia is out in Denerim now but Branson and Rosalie are still with our parents back in Honnleath.” He stiffened, recalling her plan to save his family back in Ferelden. Even without knowing anything about them, she was already looking out for complete strangers. He pulled away his hand from her, shame washing over him. He scratched the edge of his chin. “Mia writes to me but I need to be better at replying.”

Asher gave a small smile, her own hand retracting back. “That’s so sweet.”

He wondered whether he should ask the same question. Would she even recall since she left her family at such a young age? Was eleven considered young? He reached down to take another sip of his tea.

It was as if she read his thoughts as Asher straightened herself on the bench and proceeded. “I have you beat, it seems. There’s five of us.”

Cullen fumbled, spilling a little over his armor. “Five..?”

She nodded with a wide grin. “That’s right.”

“Are you the eldest?” He tiptoed around the subject.

“Not even close!” Asher cupped her mug. He could see her thoughts wander back to something in the distant past as she spoke. “Elijah, Sander, and August are my three older brothers. Then I was the fourth child born and Ophelia is my little sister. August and I never got along and we would squabble a lot.”

Cullen continued observing in silence.

“August was always misbehaving and it would make me so mad to see him act out.” She laughed gently. “Then Ophelia, as a baby, started to copy his mannerisms one day and we got into a brawl. Sander caught us rolling around on the kitchen table and yanked us apart. He was so angry! I think I saw smoke come out of his nostrils.”

“That certainly isn’t very ladylike of you.” Cullen chuckled under his breath. He was having a hard time imagining a little Asher swinging her fist at someone. Maybe a book that she found frustrating, but not a person. “What did your parents do?”

Something cold shifted in the atmosphere.

Asher spoke carefully, pausing to choose the correct words. “Father was always busy with work and mother had poor health. Sander said that it was our responsibility as children to be excellent students and not cause trouble for our parents. Otherwise it would be difficult for them.”

He did not say anything else, patiently waiting for Asher to speak on her own terms. Something was clearly off.

“Looking back on it, I think August was upset that our parents could not dedicate a lot of time to their children.” She glanced to her mug. “Among other things.”

Cullen tensed. The question that plagued his mind could shatter the conversation if he went through with it. He braced himself for the worst, gripping the cup tightly in his palm.

“Where was your oldest brother?” His voice barely escaped his lips, fear settling in deep within his stomach.

Her eyes slowly wandered back to him. There was pain in them as the green hue softened, threatening something he was not prepared for. Cullen felt a lump form at the base of his throat. He cursed his curiosity.

“I never met Elijah.” Asher was at a near-whisper. Her lips curved gently to each statement, as if cradling precious words. “He was taken away by the Templars before I was born.”

 _Shit_. The realization sunk in. The Amell family was notorious for their magical bloodline. This was going to be the obvious outcome all along. He should have predicted that.

Before Cullen could muster another sentence to sway the conversation, Asher unexpectedly pressed on.

“Elijah was seven when he discovered his magic. August had just been born and Sander was nearly three. The Templars came to escort him to a Circle. I’m not sure which one he went to. I’m not sure where he is now.”

He listened quietly. Melindra’s question reared itself in the back of his mind. _Would you give up your own blood to the Circle, under the supervision of an unknown order, to never see it again?_

“Then when I was born, we realized that Sander also had magical talents. Mother and father decided to keep it a secret because they were afraid to lose another child.” Asher took a second to drink her tea. “By then, mother became ill more often. When she delivered Ophelia years later, father said she might start to feel happy again. But August became a Mage that same year.”

Cullen knew what was going to happen next. Having all three sons end up as Mages was painful enough but to make matters worse, their daughter was going to follow in suit as well.

“Father said that mother had to leave because of her health and shortly after, he took us away from Kirkwall.” Asher paused. Her breathing was starting to waver. “After a few more years in hiding, Sander decided to turn himself in to the local Chantry. They took him to a different Circle. August had no intentions on spending the rest of his life in a Circle but he was caught by a Templar a year before I found out about my magic.”

He had heard of relatives being conscripted to separate Circles to avoid conflict but Cullen did not know how to process this. Even though he was from from his family now, if he were permanently separated from them, he was unsure whether he would have the will to continue.

“Father could not possibly know how to raise Mage children. When my nightmares began, I started to lose control. Instead of the Templars showing up at our doorstep, father asked me to go to the Chantry on my own so that they would not suspect Ophelia.” She pressed her lips in a tight line. “By that point, Ophelia was already eight and we knew she too was a Mage. All five of us ended up developing magical talents when we turned seven.”

Right on deadline.

The dread was spreading throughout his entire body. Cullen wanted to reach across for her and hold the shattered pieces together. They were broken. Always broken. But he also wondered whether he was in any position to console her. Their ranks were never as prominent as they were in that moment. Asher came from a family of Mages who were all scattered across Thedas in various Circles by the same Order he pledged his loyalty.

Suddenly, she smiled and a shiver ran down his spine.

“But it’s alright. There are worse things in life, after all.” Asher looked up to him. There was an unexpected joy in her eyes but none of it appeared fraudulent. “Since we’re all in the Circle, that means we don’t have to worry about being on the run all the time. And that’s certainly less stress on our father.”

She leaned back to stretch her arms over her head. A prolonged, staggering sigh escaped her lips, as if she was trying to control her emotions from spilling over.

“It’s been nearly ten years since I arrived in Kinloch Hold. Wherever they are now, Elijah should be thirty-two and Sander is twenty-eight. August will be twenty-five this Spring and Ophelia is almost eighteen.” Asher leaned back to the table. “We’re all adults now… and that’s the most important thing. We’re all alive… I think.”

It was odd to imagine that there was family outside of Jowan for her. Cullen had only seen Asher interact with him, the Knight-Commander, the First Enchanter, and her mentor, Wynne. Then again, for almost eleven years, she did have a life outside of the Circle; with parents and a handful of siblings, constantly avoiding the Chantry. Not much different from Jaron and his family.

Asher adjusted to move off the bench. “I’m sorry. I should not have shared something so unpleasant so early in the morning.”

“N-no, it’s fine!” Cullen nearly jumped to his feet, following after her around the table. “I liked hearing you talk about your family.”

“I just hope August isn’t causing too much trouble in his Circle.” A smile spread, the tension in her shoulders releasing. “Knowing him, he’d most likely be in Ser Greagoir’s office every week if he were in Ferelden and I would probably be scolded for egging him on. I think that’s why Jowan and I got along so well. He reminded me of my brother.”

“That’s strange.” Cullen tilted his head, reaching out to grab her empty mug. “I don’t recall you and Jowan getting into any fist fights.”

She laughed as her voice echoed against the dining hall walls. “By the time you were stationed in Kinloch Hold, we had mellowed out. Maybe we didn’t throw punches at each other but there were a number of rather nasty arguments… and a few inappropriate words that were yelled down the First Enchanter’s hallway. Ser Greagoir even had us separated for a whole week under supervision. It’s embarrassing to remember how much of a pain I was to him as a kid.”

“I doubt he minded.” Cullen walked aside to place their cups into the basket for cleaning. “He had plenty others, both Templar and Mages, that were a greater pain in his rear… myself included.”

“That’s right. You were constantly distracted, it seems.” She looked at him, the green in her eyes was brilliant.

“You remembered…” He instantly reddenned. “Maker’s breath...”

Asher stepped toward the halls. She was starting to blush as well, hiding her face from him. “I’m sure if we met before my Harrowing I would have been just as distracted… and then I’d really be a nightmare for Ser Greagoir.”

“Now you’re the one who is ridiculous.” Cullen chuckled under his breath.

Seeing Asher ease around him was worth the wait. It had been nearly two years since they confirmed their feelings for one another. Three since they parted ways after Kinloch Hold. And four since they officially met after her Harrowing. He wondered how many more years they had together. He wondered whether that time could be extrapolated as years.

Now he watched her walk down the corridor until she began ascending the steps and out of his line of sight. Now his imagination of her soft curves did not have to wander as far. His younger self would never dream of achieving that level of physical and emotional intimacy as he had in the present. He had the privilege to witness her cry until the tears washed over her cheeks, laugh at the most silliest thing she’s seen, become incredibly passionate with anger - sometimes directed at him - and now, she revealed to him painful memories that she kept from the world.

She exposed herself for him, both the good and the ugly. And in turn, Asher knew of his sides as well. She saw him stumble over his embarrassment like an adolescent boy, endure his rage and vile nature after Uldred’s fiasco, and follow through his path to maturity. Despite it all, she still somehow managed to place her trust in someone who had hurt and broke her. It was all he could ask for. Even if the future was bleak.

There was never any certainty in their relationship and no goal to aspire. At times these thoughts pained him. It would have been simpler if they never engaged beyond the formalities. If he never went to her while at the library, they would not be here today. Life would have turned out much different. He wondered how their future may have changed if Asher and her family did not possess any magical bloodline. If they remained in Kirkwall, perhaps they would have met… and then there would have been three older brothers that posed as an obstacle.

He recalled Loraine’s statement. _If she was not a Mage, I’d say you two would be perfect for one another_. Cullen could feel the lump tighten at the base of his throat. None of it was alright. He despised it all. It was as if the world was punishing him for becoming a Templar by falling for a woman he would never be able to keep as his own. _Though you probably need a nice, gentle girl for a wife, sir. The kind that eagerly awaits for you with a table full of food and a smile that shames even Andraste herself._

But none of that mattered.

What he had now was leaps greater than what he wished for. If he focused so much on attaining the future that Loraine painted for him, Cullen would find himself lost in wishful thinking without appreciating the current state of affairs.

They were finally at a calm, content enough with everything, and discovering all of the small facets of one another. They may not have been able to make their relationship public, but there were other ways to let each other know how much they care. Asher took the ribbon he gifted her after that night and tied it in a bow, sewing it to one of her shawls. The fabric hung over the shoulder and curving to her edges. No one needed to know what it represented. No one needed to interfere in their world any more than it had already been invaded.

He had the pleasure to spend mornings and late evenings with Asher. His career continued to blossom during the day, earning more respect and loyalty from the Order. And to top it off, the Mage youth finally started to come around with the new Templar recruits, even if the older generations were still whispering vile thoughts in the corner.

Cullen proceeded to begin his patrol. Meredith assigned him to Hightown to collect information on where the nobles of Kirkwall stood on the Qunari dilemma. In all honesty, Cullen could care less as to what the rich men and women thought when so few could be bothered to address the rising rates of poverty in their city. But money had to flow somewhere and the Order’s pipeline originated with the wealthy families.

Formalities had to be up-kept.

Life may not have been alright but it was acceptable for now. He was in love, after all. Not dying of the plague.

It was not until later that afternoon, once he returned from Hightown after the sun started to wane, greeted by a stack of reports on his desk, that he noticed a letter addressed in curt writing from the First Enchanter’s office. The message was short.

_The Knight-Commander has issued a Rite of Tranquility upon Enchanter Amell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know there's never going to be a calm and happy moment with these two. Also, I suddenly realized that I needed to make sure timeline events matched. I almost panicked for a second XD


End file.
